For three days, their journey upriver had gone better than Leftrin could ever have hoped. Their start had been a bit rough, true, but things had smoothed out soon enough. The dragons had made their own first kill, and that had certainly wrought a change in the beasts. They were still dependent on what the hunters and their keepers killed for them, but now that the dragons knew that they could kill, they attempted to hunt every day. Their successes were uneven, but any food they caught and killed for themselves lessened the burden on their human companions. Their young keepers praised them lavishly for each kill, and the dragons basked in the adulation until they seemed likely to pop.
He leaned on Tarman’s railing, listening to his ship and the river that caressed it. His rough hands cradled a heavy mug of morning tea. From the small sounds his keen ears picked up from Alise’s compartment, he knew she was awake and dressing. He would not let his mind dwell on the details of that process. No sense in tormenting himself. Soon enough, he hoped, she would emerge. They were both early risers, and he cherished these dawn moments almost more than he enjoyed their evenings of companionable conversation. Evenings were wonderful, with food and laughter and music, but he always had to share her with the hunters and the ever-present Sedric. When Davvie played his pipes and Carson the harp, she had eyes only for the two hunters. Jess, much to Carson’s chagrin, had proven himself to be every bit as good a hunter as Leftrin’s old friend. He also, it seemed to Leftrin, had an eye for Alise. The fellow was a wonderful storyteller, for his dour expression concealed an ability to make himself the butt of every tale, and to win laughter from everyone, even sour Sedric. The evenings were made pleasant with song and story, but he had to share Alise’s attention.
In the mornings he had her to himself, for his crew had already learned to avoid any but the most pressing of questions during those hours. He took a short breath, sighed and found himself smiling. Truth be told, he even enjoyed the anticipation of waiting for her.
Last night’s campsite had not been as wet as the previous ones, and he’d felt no qualms about suggesting that the keepers could sleep ashore with their dragons. In some wild flood rage years ago the river had swept gravel and sand into a compact beach. Tall grass and young trees grew there, creating an unusually sunny woodland for the keepers and their dragons to enjoy. As the years passed, the trees would grow taller until this was just another part of the rain forest. Or, he thought to himself, the next storm flood might sweep it away completely. For now, he looked out on a grassy sward that was just slightly above the level of the river. The dragons sprawled there, sleeping heavily. Their keepers were scattered among them, rolled in their blue blankets. The remnants of last night’s driftwood cook-fire sent a thin tendril of bluish smoke toward a deep blue sky. As of yet, none of them was stirring.
Both dragons and keepers had changed mightily in the short time he had known them. The keepers had stopped being a mismatched conglomeration and were starting to form a cohesive community. Most of the time they were exuberant, the boys brash and wild. They splashed one another, challenged each other, laughed and shouted as only boys teetering on the edge of manhood do. Even in the short time of their journey the boys were building muscle from the daily paddling. The girls were less noisy and exhibitionist about the changes they were going through, but the signs were there all the same. The boys vied for their attention, and sometimes the rivalries grew rough indeed. And the girls seemed, like the dragons, to bask in the boys’ attention. They preened and flirted, albeit in very different ways.
Sylve was still little more than a child. She’d obviously set her heart on winning Tats’ attention. She trailed behind him like a toy on a string. Yesterday, she’d braided flowers into her hair, as if their scarlet glory could hide her pink-scaled scalp. Leftrin gave the young man credit. He was kind to her, but kept her at a proper arm’s length, as he should with a girl so young.
In contrast, Jerd seemed to hourly change her mind as to which young man she fancied. Greft courted her in a desultory way. Leftrin had watched him draw his boat alongside hers and endeavour to win her attention with conversation. But during the day’s passage Jerd seemed focused not only on making good time to keep up with the dragons that preceded them, but in filling her small boat with as much fish as she could catch. She was dedicated to Veras, grooming her each evening until the small green dragon’s gold stippling looked like a sparkling of nuggets on a dark green cloth. In the evenings, when the herders gathered around a riverbank fire, Jerd sat with the other girls and let the young men compete to see who could take the spot next to her. It made Leftrin smile to watch them, even as he wondered uneasily where it might lead.
He had never had much to do with folk born so heavily touched by the Rain Wilds. Most of them were given back to the forest on the day of their birth, for the Rain Wild Traders had long recognized that those who were born so deformed would either break their parents’ hearts with their early deaths, or give rise to a second generation of deformed children who never survived. The Rain Wilds were a harsh place. It was better to let go of an infant immediately and try for a new pregnancy than to pour love and food into a child that would never live long enough to carry on the family line. The recent influx of the Tattooed Folk had brought fresh life to the Rain Wilds population, but for decades before that, their birth rates had only marginally exceeded their death rates.
Alise had still not appeared. On the riverbank, Lecter had arisen. Cloaked in his blanket, he’d wandered over to the coals of the fire and was feeding it the ends of last night’s wood. A tiny flame leapt up and the boy crouched, holding out his hands to it. Warken came to join him, rubbing his eyes and scratching at his scaled neck. His skin had taken on a coppery glint over the last few days, as if he would complement his red dragon. He greeted Lecter warmly. Lecter said something that made Warken laugh, a hearty boy’s laugh that came clearly to Leftrin’s ears.
As Leftrin watched the youths who should have been discarded as infants, he almost doubted the wisdom of the old ways. They seemed vigorous enough, if strange to look upon. He wished them well, boys and girls alike, and yet he hoped he would not see romance blossom. Allowing such folk to breed would go against every Rain Wilds tradition. So far, he had seen no indication that any of the girls would allow such a transgression. He hoped it would remain so, even as he uneasily wondered if he had any responsibility to enforce the Rain Wilds rules against them mating. ‘Well, Tarman, no one told me that was part of the contract. I know it’s everyone’s duty to honour the rules that keep us alive. But my grandpa used to tell me that everyone’s job was nobody’s job. So maybe I won’t be blamed if I don’t take that task on.’
There was no response from his ship. He hadn’t expected one. The sun was warm and the river gentle here. Tarman seemed to be enjoying the brief respite as much as his captain was. Leftrin glanced again toward Alise’s compartment. Patience. Patience. She was a lady, and a lady took her time readying herself every morning before she emerged to face the day. The effect was worth it.
He heard a sound behind him and turned to wish her good morning. The welcoming words died on his lips. Sedric, polished as ever, was pacing quietly over the deck toward him. Leftrin watched him come, caught between envy and loathing. Sedric’s hair was impeccably combed, his shirt white, his trousers brushed and his boots clean. He was freshly shaven and a faint spicy scent rode the morning air. He was the worst sort of rival that a man could imagine. Not only was he immaculately groomed every day, his manners were impeccable. Compared to him, Leftrin felt swinish and ignorant. And hence the loathing he felt for him. Whenever they were both in Alise’s presence, she must compare the two of them, and Leftrin must always be lacking in her gaze. That alone was enough reason to hate the man. But there was more.
Sedric’s unfailing courtesy to Leftrin and his men could not camouflage the contempt he held them in. Leftrin had seen it before; every ship rat had. There would always be certain people who saw a sailor and immediately tarred him with the poor reputation that seamen traditionally had. After all, weren’t all sailors drunken, ignorant louts? Once aboard the vessel, that disdain often broke down, as the passenger realized that Leftrin and his men, though rough and uneducated in some ways, were savvy and competent in what they did. They came to see the sort of brotherhood that existed on a ship, and often their initial disdain turned to envy before the voyage was over.
But he could already tell that Sedric would not be one of those. The man clung to his superior position and poor opinion of Leftrin as if it were the only piece of wreckage floating after a storm. But the stiff expression and cold gaze he offered Leftrin now were not based on his generalized opinion of sailors. Leftrin set his jaw. This dandy looked determined to have a word with him, man to man. The captain took another mouthful of his coffee and stared out at the shore. More and more of the keepers were beginning to stir. Soon it would be time to get under way. He’d get no private conversation with Alise today, only more words with Sedric than he’d enjoy.
He’d found his way to the railing. ‘Good morning, Captain.’ His tone said that he doubted it.
‘Morning, Sedric. Sleep well?’
‘Actually, no, I didn’t.’
Leftrin suppressed a sigh. He should have known that the man would seize on any pleasantry and use it as a pry bar to open a way for his complaint. Leftrin responded, ‘That so?’ and took another drink from his coffee. It was still a bit too hot, but he suddenly decided to finish it as rapidly as he could and then use getting a refill as an excuse for walking away from the man.
‘Yes, that is so,’ Sedric replied, almost mockingly, adding an aristocratic enunciation to the words.
Leftrin took another gulp of his coffee and decided to attack. He was certain he’d regret it, but not as much as he’d regret just standing here and taking Sedric’s guff. ‘You ought to try hard work. Helps a man sleep.’
‘Perhaps you should try having a clean conscience. But perhaps you slept well despite lacking one.’
‘I’ve got nothing on my conscience,’ Leftrin lied.
Sedric looked like a cat about to spit. He’d huffed up his shoulders. ‘Then ignoring a woman’s marriage vows doesn’t bother you?’
He couldn’t let those words go unanswered. He turned to face Sedric, feeling his own shoulders and neck begin to swell. Sedric didn’t step back but he saw him shift his weight, to be ready to move quickly. Leftrin forced himself to speak calmly. ‘You are insulting a lady who doesn’t deserve your contempt. Alise hasn’t done anything to violate her marriage vows. I haven’t tried to persuade her to do anything wrong. So I think you’d best rethink what you just said. Words like that can do big damage.’
Sedric narrowed his eyes but spoke calmly. ‘My words are based on what I’ve seen. I’ve a deep affection for Alise, based on a lengthy friendship. I don’t say such things lightly. You might both be innocent, but it no longer appears that way. Early-morning meetings and late-night conversations alone – is that how a married woman should comport herself? I’ve been cursed with being a light sleeper with very keen hearing. I know that after Alise and I bid you good night and sought our separate quarters, she went out again and met you. I could hear you talking together.’
‘Did she take a vow she wouldn’t talk after midnight?’ Leftrin asked sarcastically. ‘Because if she did, then I admit, she broke it, and I helped her.’
Sedric glared at him. Leftrin drank more coffee, looking at him over the rim of the mug. Sedric looked like a man trying to contain himself. When he finally spoke the eternal courtesy in his voice seemed strained. ‘For a lady like Alise, married to a prominent and wealthy Bingtown Trader, appearances can be as important as realities. If I know that she arose from her bed to seek out your company late last night, then I’ll wager that others aboard this vessel also know. Even a rumour of that sort of behaviour released into Bingtown could compromise her reputation.’
Sedric finished his speech and turned his gaze out over the riverbank. More of the keepers were waking up. Some were clustered around the fire, warming themselves from the night’s chill and heating food. Others were around the shallow sand-well they’d dug the night before, taking the earth-filtered water for washing and cooking. The dragons, Leftrin noted, weren’t stirring yet. They were creatures that loved the sun and warmth and would sleep as long as their keepers allowed them to, rising at noon if they were left to their own devices. He stared at them and wished his life were as simple as theirs. It wasn’t.
Leftrin forced himself to loosen his hold on the mug’s handle before he broke it. ‘I’ll speak plain to you, Sedric. Nothing happened. She came up on deck and I was making my night rounds. So we talked a bit. She walked my rounds of the ship with me. We checked the tie-up lines and the anchor. I showed her some constellations and explained how a sailor can use the stars to know where he’s headed. I told her the names of some of the night birds she heard. If any of that offends your morality, it’s your problem. Not mine and not Alise’s. I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of.’
He spoke righteously but guilt coiled inside him like a snake. He thought of the moments when her hands had been under his as he showed her how to tie the bowline. He’d put his hands on her warm shoulders and turned her to face Sa’s Plough in the southern sky. And very late or rather early, depending on how one reckoned it, when she had bid him good night and sought her compartment, he’d leaned on the railing outside her door and looked out over the river and pondered all the things that might have been. From there, he’d allowed himself to think of things that still could be, if he had the courage to propose them and she felt the passion to accept them. Under his hands, the railing had thrummed with the sweep of the river’s current and the response of his ship to it. It had seemed to him then that he was a sort of river and Alise might be a ship that had ventured into his current. Was he strong enough to carry her off with him?
Sedric spoke and the gentler tone of his voice took Leftrin off guard. ‘Look, man. I’m not blind. If there’s a man on board this ship that is unaware of your infatuation with her, well, then he’s a man with no senses and no heart. Your crew knows, your hunter friends know. Knowing Alise as well as I do, I can also see that she is venturing onto dangerous ground. You’re a man of the world, out and about, meeting all sorts of women. But perhaps you’ve never met someone as sheltered as Alise has been. She went from her father’s house to her husband’s. He was her first and only beau. In some ways, she and Hest are well matched. He’s wealthy, he provides for all her needs, and that includes giving her the materials and the time for her precious studies. She had never met a man like you. To a Bingtown lady, you probably seem a bit larger than life. If your admiration for her tempts her to step outside the bounds of society, she will be the one to pay the cost, not you. To her, the shame and the shunning. Possibly the divorce that will send her, irrevocably shamed, back to her father’s household. He’s not a wealthy man. If you continue to pursue her, even if she doesn’t fall as your conquest, people will hear of it. You could ruin her life, send her back to live in reduced circumstances without the scholarly pursuits she has come to love. I don’t mean to sound harsh, man, but are you worth it? Will you continue this dalliance, to her ruin? You’ll walk away; forgive me if I say that all know the way of sailors in these matters. But she will be crushed.’
Sedric spoke his piece and turned away from Leftrin, as if giving him a chance to think. Two of the dragons were awake now and lumbering down to the water. Sedric stared at them as if fascinated, as if he’d forgotten the man beside him.
Anger vied with horror inside Leftrin’s chest. His face had first flushed and then drained of blood. He was not a man who was faint of heart or body, but Sedric’s words sickened him. Was he right? Was there any way this would not end in disaster for her? He mastered his emotions and spoke.
‘I doubt there’s any man aboard this ship that is bound for Bingtown, let alone prone to gossip about a lady. The only exception is you, and if you’re her friend, as you claim to be, you won’t say ugly, untrue things about her. I have no intention of disgracing the lady. And I think you wrong her when you suspect she would betray her husband.’ That last he felt was true, but oh, how he longed that she would at least consider it.
‘I am Alise’s friend. If I weren’t, I’d have kept to my words and left her on this ship while I went back to Bingtown. But I knew that if I did, she’d be ruined. The only reason I’m here is to safeguard her reputation. You can’t imagine that I’m enjoying this little misadventure! No. The only reason I’m here is for Alise. I want to protect her. Her husband is a close friend as well as my employer. So you might, for a moment, consider what an untenable position you are forcing me into. Do I respect Alise’s dignity and refrain from reprimanding her? Or do I respect my employer’s dignity and challenge you?’
‘Challenge me?’ Leftrin was shocked.
Sedric spoke quickly. ‘That’s not what I’m doing, of course. I don’t think I need to. Now that I’ve come to you and explained the situation in civil terms, I’m sure you’ll see that there is only one solution.’
He paused, as if he expected Leftrin to fill in his silence. He tried. Despite his efforts at control, his voice went deep with fury and despair. ‘You want me to stop speaking to her, don’t you?’
Sedric tucked his chin and widened his eyes, surprised that Leftrin didn’t see the obvious. ‘I’m afraid that, at this stage and in these close quarters, that would be inadequate. You need to order one of your hunters to take one of the keepers’ small boats, and transport Alise and me back down the river to Trehaug.’
‘We are three days upriver of Cassarick,’ Leftrin pointed out. ‘And one of those small boats wouldn’t hold half your luggage, let alone you and Alise and all your trappings.’
‘I’m aware of both those things,’ Sedric replied briskly. Leftrin was watching his face. He thought the corner of his mouth almost twitched into a smile. ‘Travelling downriver, with the current, the little boats go much faster. I heard the hunters talking about it yesterday. I suspect that at most Alise and I would spend one night camping out before we reached Cassarick. From there, we could make proper travel arrangements to reach Trehaug and then home. As for our belongings, well, they’ll have to remain on board for now. We’d travel light, and rely on you to ship our things to us in Bingtown when you finally return to Trehaug. I’m sure we could trust you to do that.’
Leftrin just stared at him.
‘You know it’s the right thing to do,’ Sedric urged him quietly, and then added, like a twist of the knife, ‘For Alise’s sake.’
A long wailing cry of anguish from the shore rose to crack the sky.
‘He was better last night!’ Sylve insisted. Red-tinged tears were streaming down her cheeks. Thymara winced at the sight of them, knowing well how much such tears hurt. Perhaps the fear of that pain was the only thing keeping her own eyes dry. She knelt by the little copper dragon. He had eaten last night, the first really large meal he’d taken since they’d fed him the elk meat a couple of nights ago. But unlike the other dragons, who had put on flesh and gained muscle since their trek began, the copper one had remained thin. His belly still bulged from what he had eaten last night, but Thymara could have counted his ribs. At the top of his shoulders and along his spine, some of his scales looked as if they were slipping loose from his hide.
Tats stood up from examining the dragon’s muzzle. He put a comforting arm across Sylve’s shoulders. ‘He’s not dead,’ he told her, laying her fear to rest. But in the next breath, he took that comfort from her. ‘But I think he will be dead before the day is out. It’s not your fault!’ he added hastily as Sylve drew in a sobbing breath. ‘I think you just came into his life too late. Sylve, he didn’t have much of a chance from the start. Look how disproportionate his legs are to the rest of him! And I caught him eating rocks and mud the other night. I think he has worms in his gut; look how swollen his belly is while the rest of him is skinny. Parasites will do that to an animal.’
Sylve made a choking noise. She shrugged off Tats’ touch and walked away from the group. Other keepers were coming to join them, forming a circle around the downed dragon. Thymara bit her lips tight to keep from speaking. Some callous part of her wanted to ask Tats where Jerd was. After all, she was the one who had volunteered to help him with this dragon. Sylve had promised to help with the silver, but the soft-hearted girl had ended up involved with both the failing dragons. And if this copper died, it would devastate her.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Lecter asked as he hurried up.
‘Parasites,’ Rapskal responded wisely. ‘Eating him up from the inside, so he gets no good from his food.’
Thymara was a bit surprised by the coherency of his remark. Rapskal saw her looking at him and came to stand beside her. ‘What are we going to do?’ he asked her, as if it were up to her.
‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly. ‘What can we do?’
‘I think we should make the best of it, and go on,’ Greft said. His voice was not loud but his words carried to everyone. Thymara glared at him. She still had not forgiven him for the elk. She hadn’t raised a public fuss about it, but she had avoided speaking to him or Kase or Boxter. She watched them, watched how Greft assumed leadership and tended to push the other keepers around, but hadn’t said anything openly. Now she lifted her head and squared her shoulders, preparing to take him on.
Sylve abruptly turned back to face them all. Her tears had stopped but they’d left red tracks down her face. ‘The best of it?’ she said thickly. ‘What is that supposed to mean? What can be “best” about this?’
Silence thick as a blanket had fallen over the gathering. Sylve stood, her shoulders lifted and her small fists knotted. All waited to hear what Greft would say. For the first time since Thymara had met him, she saw him hesitant. He surveyed his listeners. It was strange to see his pink human tongue dart out to lick his narrow scaled lips. What was he looking for? Thymara wondered. Acceptance of his leadership? Willingness to follow him as he made ‘new rules’ for them?
‘He’s going to die,’ he said quietly. Thymara saw a scream gather on Sylve’s face; she held it in.
‘And when he dies, his body shouldn’t go to waste.’
‘Course not,’ said Rapskal, breaking the silence that the others held by tacit consent. His matter of fact boyish voice in contrast to Greft’s controlled and mature speech made him sound foolish as he voiced what everyone else was thinking. ‘The dragons will eat him to get his memories. And for food. Everyone knows that.’ Rapskal looked around at the other keepers, nodding and smiling. Slowly the smile faded from his face; he seemed puzzled at their stillness. Thymara concentrated her attention on Greft again; he had an exasperated look on his face, as if what Rapskal proposed should seem obviously foolish to all of them. But when he spoke, there was a note of caution to his words, as if he hoped someone else would speak for him.
‘There may be a better use for his body,’ he said, and waited. Thymara held her breath. What was he talking about? He looked around at all of them, daring himself to speak. ‘There has been talk of offers for—’
‘Dragon flesh belongs to dragons.’ It was not a human who spoke. Despite his great size, the golden dragon could move quietly. He towered above them, his head lifted high to look down on Greft. The keepers were parting to let him advance as if they were reeds giving way to the river’s flow. Mercor strode majestically past them. He looked, Thymara thought, magnificent. Since their journey had begun, he had put on weight and muscle. He was beginning to look the way a dragon was supposed to look. With the muscling, his legs looked more proportionate. His tail seemed to have grown. Only his broken-kite wings betrayed him. They were still too small and frail-looking to lift even a part of him.
He bent his long neck to sniff at the copper dragon’s body. Then he swivelled his head to stare at Greft. ‘She’s not dead,’ he told him coldly. ‘It’s a bit early to plan to sell her flesh.’
‘She?’ Tats asked in consternation.
‘Sell her flesh?’ Rapskal sounded horrified.
But Mercor didn’t reply to either comment or the murmur of words among the keepers that followed them. He had lowered his head to sniff again at the copper. He nudged her hard. She did not respond. As the dragon slowly swung his head to study all the keepers, his scales flashed in the sun. His eyes, gleaming black, were unreadable to Thymara. ‘Sylve. Stay beside me. The rest of you, go away. This does not concern you. It does not concern humans at all.’
Thymara could almost see the girl drawn to the dragon. His voice was compelling, deep as darkness and rich as cream. Sylve walked to him and leaned against him as if taking comfort and strength from him. She spoke shyly. ‘May Tats and Thymara stay? They have helped me care for Copper.’
‘And me,’ Rapskal announced, reckless as ever. ‘I should stay, too. I’m their friend.’
‘Not now,’ the dragon announced with finality. ‘There is nothing for them to do here. You stay to be with me. I’ll watch over this dragon.’
There was a subtle force to his words; Thymara felt not just dismissed but pushed, as if she were a child being ushered out of a sick room. Without deciding to do so, she turned and found herself walking away. ‘I have to check on Skymaw,’ she explained to Tats, as if to excuse her departure.
‘I felt it, too,’ he whispered.
‘Sintara.’ Behind her, Mercor spoke the name. A shiver ran down Thymara’s spine, a sudden knowing she couldn’t deny. His rich voice vibrated through her. ‘The dragon you serve is named Sintara. I know her true name and I know she owes it to you. So have it.’
Thymara had halted in her tracks. Beside her, Tats paused, looking at her with a puzzled face. She felt as if her ears were blocked, her eyes dimmed. A storm raged somewhere, just beyond her senses. Sintara was not pleased with what Mercor had done, and she was letting him know it.
Mercor laughed humourlessly. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Sintara. The rest of us realized that right away. None of us have held back our names, save those poor souls who cannot remember that they have proper dragon names.’
Rash as always, Rapskal spoke into the pause. ‘Does Heeby have a dragon name?’
To Thymara’s surprise, the great gold dragon took the boy’s query seriously. ‘Heeby is now Heeby. She has made the name hers as you gave it to her. It remains to see if she will grow into it, or find herself limited by it.’
Thymara desperately wanted to ask about the injured silver dragon, but did not have the courage. Sometimes, she reflected, it might be easier to be Rapskal, without the sense to be frightened of anything.
Mercor had lowered his nose to the copper dragon. He gave her a nudge, then a stronger push. The copper didn’t move. Mercor lifted his head and regarded the fallen dragon with his bright black eyes. ‘We will have to remain here until she either rises or dies,’ he announced. He looked around himself gravely and let his gaze stop on Greft. ‘Leave her alone here. I will be back shortly.’ Then, ‘Come, Sylve,’ he beckoned her, and strode off toward the water. His heavy clawed feet left deep tracks. Soon water would seep up to fill them.
Morning had come and grown strong. Alise could tell by the squares of sunlight that fell in her small chamber from the tiny windows set high in the wall. She tried again to muster her courage to leave her room, and once again sat down at her little desk instead. She had to go outside soon. She was hungry and thirsty and she needed to empty her chamber pot. Instead, she folded her arms on the desk in front of her and then rested her forehead on them. She stared into the small darkness her arms enclosed. ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked herself.
No easy answer came to her. Outside, the deckhands would soon be casting loose and pushing the barge off the muddy bank. Doubtless by now the dragons had set out and their keepers in their flotilla of small boats would be following. Another day of travel up the river awaited her. Ahead of her were vistas of open river, tall trees and the slice of sky overhead that sometimes seemed like a different sort of river. Every day was a new adventure for her. There would be new flowers perfumed with unfamiliar fragrances, strange animals that came down to the river’s edge or rose from its depths to leap glittering into the sunlight. Never had she imagined that the Rain Wilds would be so rich with life. When she had heard of the river and how it could sometimes run white with acid, she had expected the lands to either side of it to be deserted wastelands. On the contrary, she found herself encountering all sorts of trees, plants and animals that she had never imagined existed. The fish and creatures in the water that had adapted to its varying acidity astounded her. Of the birds alone, there were hundreds. And by sight or song, Leftrin seemed to know them all …
And again, her errant thoughts had circled back to him, to the very man who was at the root of her all problems.
No. That wasn’t fair. She couldn’t blame him. It was her own fault she was so taken with him. Oh, she knew he was infatuated with her; he was an honest soul. He hid nothing from her. His affection for her and interest in her were conveyed in every glance, in every word he spoke to her. An accidental touch of his hand against hers was like a leap of lightning from earth to sky. Feelings, physical sensations she had thought long vanished from her life, were awakening violently and rolling through her like ground-shaking thunder.
Last night, when he had been showing her how to refasten the bowline, she had feigned incompetence at the simple knot. It was a schoolgirl’s trick, but the poor honest man had been completely deceived. He’d stood behind her, with her in the circle of his arms and taken her hands in his to guide them through the easy motions. Heat had flushed through her and her knees had actually trembled at his closeness. A wave of dizziness had washed through her; she had wanted to collapse to the deck and pull him down on top of her. She’d gone still in his loose embrace, praying to every god she’d ever heard of that he would know what she so hotly desired and act on it. This, this was what she was supposed to feel about the man she was joined to, and had never felt at all!
‘Do you understand it now?’ he’d asked her huskily. His hands on hers pulled the knot firm.
‘I do,’ she’d replied. ‘I understand it completely now.’ She hadn’t been speaking of knots at all. She’d dared herself to take half a step backwards and press her body to his. She dared herself to turn in the circle of his arms and look up into his whiskery beloved face. Cowardice paralysed her. She could not even form words. For a time that was infinitely brief and forever, he stood there, enclosing her in a warm, safe place. All around her, the night sounds of the Rain Wilds made a soft music of water, bird and insect calls. She could smell him, a male musky smell, ‘sweaty’ as Sedric would have mocked it, but incredibly masculine and attractive to her. Enclosed by his embrace, she felt a part of his world. The deck under her feet, the railing of the ship, the night sky above her and the man at her back connected her to something big and wonderful, something that was untamed and yet home to her.
Then he had dropped his arms and stepped back from her. The night was as warm and muggy, the insects chirred and buzzed, and she heard the night call of a gnat-chaser. But it had all seemed separate from her then. Last night, as now, she knew herself for the mousy, scholarly little Bingtown woman that she undoubtedly was. She’d sold herself to Hest, prostituted out her ability to bear a child for the security and position that he had offered. She’d made the deal, and signed on it. A Trader was only as good as his word, so the saying went. She’d given her word. What was it worth?
Even if she took it back now, even if she broke it faithlessly, she’d still be a mousy little Bingtown woman, not what she longed to be. She could scarcely bear to consider what she longed to be, not only because it was so far beyond her but because it seemed such a childishly extravagant dream. In the dark circle of her arms, she closed her eyes and thought of Althea, wife to the captain of the Paragon. She’d seen that woman dashing about the deck barefoot, wearing loose trousers like a man. She’d seen her standing up by her ship’s figurehead, the wind stirring her hair and a smile curving her lips as she exchanged some jest with the ship’s boy. And then Captain Trell had bounded up the short ladder to the foredeck to join them there. She and the captain had moved without even looking at one another, like a needle drawn to a magnet, their arms lifting as if they were the halves of the god Sa becoming whole again. She’d thought her heart would break with envy.
What would it be like, she wondered, to have a man who had to embrace you when he saw you, even if you’d just risen from a shared bed a few hours earlier? She tried to imagine herself as free as that Althea woman, running barefoot on the decks of the Tarman. Could she ever lean on a railing in a way that said she completely owned and trusted the ship? She thought of Leftrin and tried to see him dispassionately. He was uncouth and unschooled. He told jokes at the table and she’d seen him laugh so hard that the tea spewed from his mouth, at a coarse jest from one of his sailors. He didn’t shave every day, nor wash as often as a gentleman should. The elbows of his shirts and the knees of his trousers were scuffed with work. The short nails of his wide hands were broken and rough. Where Hest was tall and lean and elegant, Leftrin was perhaps an inch taller than she was, wide-shouldered and thick-bodied. Her female friends in Bingtown would turn aside if a man like that spoke to them on the street.
Then she thought of his grey eyes, grey as the river he loved and her heart melted. She thought of the ruddy tops of his unshaven cheeks, and how his lips seemed redder and fuller than Hest’s sophisticated smile. She longed to kiss that mouth, and to feel those callused hands clasp her close. She missed sleeping in his bunk, missed the smell of him in the room and on the bedding. She wanted him as she’d never wanted anything or anyone before. At the thought of him, her body warmed even as tears filled her eyes.
She sat up straight and dashed the useless water from her eyes. ‘Take what you can have, for the short time you can have it,’ she counselled herself sternly. She wondered briefly why the ship hadn’t left the beach yet. She dried her eyes more thoroughly, smoothed her wayward hair and then stepped to the door. She would not break her word to Hest. They had made an agreement to be faithful to one another. She would honour it.
The brightness of full day was dazzling after the dimness of her room. She came out onto the deck and was surprised to see Sedric standing at the railing with Leftrin. They were both staring toward shore. ‘I’m going to see what’s going on,’ Leftrin announced and headed toward the bow. Alise hurried over to join Sedric.
‘What is the matter?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know. Some sort of ruckus among the keepers. The Captain has gone to see what it is about. How are you this morning, Alise?’
‘Well enough, thank you.’ On the shore, voices were raised in alarm. She saw some of the young keepers running. Sleepy dragons were lifting their heads and turning them toward the disturbance. ‘I think I’d best go see what that is about,’ she excused herself. She started down the deck after Leftrin. He hadn’t seen her arrive. As she watched, he climbed over the bow railing and started down the rope ladder to the shore.
‘I think it would be better if you didn’t,’ Sedric suggested strongly.
She halted reluctantly and turned back to face him. She studied his face for a moment and then asked him, ‘Is something wrong?’
His gaze met hers, studying her face. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope there isn’t.’ He glanced away from her and for a moment they shared an uncomfortable silence. On the shore, the keepers seemed to be gathering around the small brown dragon. She knew he hadn’t been well lately and felt a sudden clutch of fear. ‘You don’t have to protect me, Sedric. If the dragon has died, he has died. I know the others will eat him. And, believe it or not, I feel that I need to witness that. There will be parts of dragon behaviour that men will find distasteful, but that doesn’t mean that I should avoid learning about them.’
She turned to go, but his voice halted her again. ‘That’s not at all what I’m concerned about. Alise, I feel I must speak bluntly. And confidentially. Please, come back here where we can discuss this quietly.’
She didn’t want to. ‘Discuss what?’
‘You,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘You and Captain Leftrin.’
For a time, she stood frozen. There was a hubbub of voices on the shore. She glanced that way, and saw Leftrin hastening toward the group. Then she turned back and wearing her calmest expression, walked back toward Sedric. ‘I don’t understand,’ she offered him, trying to sound puzzled. Trying to keep breathing, to keep the blood from rushing to her face.
He wasn’t fooled. ‘Alise, you do. We’ve known one another too well for too long for you to be able to hide it from me. You’re infatuated with that man. Why, I can’t imagine. I compare him to Hest, to what you already have and—’
‘Shut up.’ The harshness of her own voice shocked her, as did the bluntness of her words. She couldn’t recall that she’d ever spoken to anyone like that. It didn’t matter. It had worked to silence him. He stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar. The words tumbled from her lips, boulders carried on a torrent. ‘What I already have, Sedric, is nothing. It’s a sham of Hest’s devising, one I agreed to because I could not imagine that there would ever be anything better. Our marriage is a travesty. But I’m aware that I agreed to it. I took his damn bargain; we shook hands on it, like good Traders, and I’ve lived up to my end of it. Far more than he has, I might add. And I will continue to live up to my word. But don’t, do not, ever, compare Leftrin to Hest. Never.’
The vehemence in her voice rasped her throat. She’d thought she’d had more to say but the shocked look on his face drained her words and thoughts from her. The uselessness of ranting against her fate to anyone suddenly exhausted her. ‘I’m sorry I spoke so roughly to you, Sedric. You don’t deserve it.’ She turned to walk away from him.
‘Alise, we still need to talk. Come back here.’ His voice shook, making his words more a plea than a command.
She halted, not looking back at him. ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Sedric. We’ve just said it all. I’m imprisoned in a marriage to a man I don’t like, let alone love. I know he feels the same way about me. I’m infatuated with Captain Leftrin. I am revelling in the attention of a man who thinks I’m beautiful and desirable. But that’s all. I won’t act on it. What else is there you want to know?’
‘I’ve told Leftrin that we have to leave. Today. I’ve asked him to find one of the hunters who will volunteer to take one of the small boats and escort us back to Trehaug. We’ll be travelling with the current, so it shouldn’t take us long. We may have to camp once, but I doubt we’d camp more than twice.’
His words turned her back to him. Her heart leapt against the ribs that encaged it. Despair rose in her. ‘What? Why would we do that?’
‘To remove you from a temptation before you fall to it. To remove a temptation from the captain before he yields to his urges. Forgive me, Alise, but you don’t know much about men. You so blithely admit that you are infatuated but assure me that you won’t act on it. Captain Leftrin knows how you feel. Can you truly say that if he pressed you, you’d be able to say no to him?’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’ Her voice grated low. No matter how much she longed for him to, he wouldn’t press her. She knew that.
‘Alise, you cannot take a chance. By staying here, you invite ruin, not just on yourself but on Leftrin as well. Your dalliance is still innocent. But people see you and people will talk. You cannot be so selfish as to think only of yourself. Consider how such a rumour would shame your father and distress your mother! And what must it mean to Hest, to wear the horns of a cuckold? He could not let it pass! A man in his position has to be seen as shrewd and powerful, not as a duped fool. I do not know what it would lead to … would he demand satisfaction of Leftrin? And then, even if you did not consummate this ill-advised romance, what good would it do you? Alise, you must see that my solution, dangerous as it is, is the only one. We should leave today, before we get any farther away from Trehaug.’
She sounded calm, even to herself. ‘And Leftrin has already agreed to this?’
Sedric folded his lips and then sighed. ‘Agree or not, it must happen. I think he was on the point of agreeing when he heard some sort of outcry from the keepers and went to check on them.’
She knew he was lying. Leftrin hadn’t been on the point of agreeing to anything. The current that had caught them was sweeping them together, not apart. She seized the opportunity to change the subject. ‘What was the outcry about?’
‘I don’t know. The keepers looked as if they were all gathering …’
‘I’m going to go and see,’ she announced and turned away from him in mid-speech. She was halfway to the bow before he overcame his astonishment.
‘Alise!’
She ignored him.
‘Alise!’ He put every bit of command into the shout that he could muster. He saw her shoulders twitch. She’d heard him. He watched her seize the bow railing in both hands and swing a leg over it. Her walking skirts wrapped and tangled. Patiently, she shook them out and then clambered over the railing and down the rope ladder to the muddy shore. She vanished from his view, and then in a few moments he saw her hurrying across the tramped grass and patches of mud toward the clustered keepers. A dragon was moving slowly to join them. Sedric’s breath caught for a moment in his chest. Would it be able to tell?
He watched them gather; he could hear the sounds of their voices but couldn’t make out the words. His anxiety built and he suddenly turned from the railing and hurried to his crude cabin. He opened the door, stepped into the dim, close chamber, and shut the door firmly behind him. He fastened the simple hook that was the only way to secure the door and then dropped to his knees. The ‘secret’ drawer in the bottom of his wardrobe suddenly looked pathetically obvious. He unlatched it and dragged it open, all the while listening for the sound of footfalls on the deck outside. Was there a better place to hide his trove? Should he keep it all together or scatter it amongst his possessions? He bit his lip, debating.
Last night, he had added two items to his store. He held up to the dim light in the cabin a glass flask. The dragon blood filled it, smoky red and swirling when he held it to the light. Last night, he’d thought he’d imagined that motion, but he hadn’t. The stuff in the flask was still rich red, liquid and moving as if it were itself alive.
For several days, he had been watching the small brown dragon and daring himself to act. Each morning, the hunters departed before dawn, leading the way up the river in the hope of bagging game before the dragons could frighten it away. When the sun was higher and the day warmer, the dragons awoke. Usually the golden one was the first one to seek the water’s edge. The others soon trailed after him. The keepers followed in their small boats and behind them all came the barge.
Yesterday and the day before, the little brown dragon had lagged badly. He had not kept up with the other dragons but had waded alone between them and the keepers who followed them. Yesterday, even the keepers had passed him. The brown dragon had barely stayed ahead of the barge. Sedric’s attention had been attracted to it when he found Alise and Leftrin on the bow, looking down on it and commiserating with one another over how pitiable it was. He joined them there, leaning on the bowrail and watching the stunted dragon slog drearily against the river’s pale flow. For a moment, the colour of the water caught his attention. It was not nearly as white as it had been during the Paragon’s upriver journey. It looked almost like ordinary river water. The captain had made some comment to Alise; Sedric heard only her response.
‘It is harder for him. Look at how short his legs are. The other dragons are wading but he’s nearly swimming.’
Leftrin had nodded agreement. ‘Poor thing never had a chance, really. He was doomed from the day he hatched. Still, I hate to see him die this way.’
‘Better that he die trying to make something of his life than that he die in the mud near Cassarick.’ Alise had spoken with such passion that Sedric had turned to look at her. It was then that he realized with some alarm the depth of her attraction to Leftrin. It was not difficult to see how her words applied to her own life. She is daring herself to act on her urges, he’d realized in awe. Given all he knew of Alise, it would be a matter of when, not if, she would give herself to Leftrin. The thought of how Hest would react to that sent a finger of cold tracing his spine. Hest might not be in love with Alise, but he regarded her as he did all his possessions, with jealous ownership. If Leftrin ‘took’ her, Hest would be infuriated. And he would blame Sedric almost as much as he’d blame her.
The discomfort he’d felt that every passing day took them deeper into wilderness and farther away from home suddenly became pressing. It was time to get Alise and himself out of here and back to Bingtown.
Then he thought of his paltry collection of dragon bits and scowled. He’d been checking them daily. They didn’t look like anything he’d be willing to include in a medicine or tonic. The flesh that Thymara had carved away from the silver dragon’s injury had been half-putrefied to begin with. Despite his efforts at preservation, the samples smelled foul and looked as one would expect any sort of decayed meat to look. The last time he had looked at them, he had very nearly thrown them away. Instead, he had resolved only to keep them until he had the opportunity to replace them with something better, something specific from the list of dragon items that he knew he could sell.
Somehow, that thought had surfaced again in his mind as he stared down on the feeble brown dragon struggling to stay ahead of them. And suddenly he had known that he would never have a better chance than that night.
It had not been that hard to slip away from the ship at night. Each evening, Leftrin nosed the Tarman onto the muddy banks of the river as close as he could get to wherever the dragons were sleeping. Some nights the keepers slept on board; sometimes they bedded down near their dragon wards. He had been fortunate. The dragons had settled for the night on a grassy shore and their keepers had decided to collect driftwood and sleep near them. Leftrin himself had taken the watch. Alise had been his unwitting accomplice for she had distracted the captain so completely that Sedric had no problem in stealthily leaving the ship.
The dying glow of the keepers’ bonfire and the nearly full moon had been enough to light his way. He’d slogged over trampled grass and through puddles as best he could, resigned that his boots and trousers would be sodden and caked with mud by the time he returned. He’d taken care earlier in the evening to watch the dragons as they settled, so he knew approximately where the exhausted brown was sleeping. It had been late and both the keepers and their dragons had been sleeping soundly as he moved cautiously among and then past them. The sickly dragon slept alone on the outskirts of the group. It hadn’t stirred as he’d drawn near it. At first, he’d thought it was already dead. He could detect no movement and heard no sign of it breathing. He’d forced himself to boldness, and cautiously set a hand to the creature’s filthy shoulder. It made no response. He gave it a slight push, and then a harder shove. It made a wheezing sound but did not move. Sedric had taken out his knife.
His first ambition had been to claim a few scales. The shoulder was perfect; he’d used his opportunity to observe the dragons while Alise attempted to talk to them to good use. He knew that the larger scales were usually on their shoulders, hips and the broadest parts of their tails. By the moonlight’s feeble gleam, he had slipped the edge of his knife under a scale, pinched it hard against the blade with his thumb and jerked. The scale did not come out easily; it was rather like pulling a plate from the bottom of a stack. But it came, edged with gleaming blood. The dragon gave a twitch but slept on, apparently too feeble to care.
He’d extracted three more scales from the creature, each about the size of the palm of his hand, wrapped them carefully in a kerchief and tucked them into the breast of his shirt. He’d nearly returned to the barge then, for he knew that even one of the scales should bring him a rich price. But while a rich price might be enough to win their freedom, he doubted it would long keep Hest at his side. No. He had taken the risk already. He would either gain enough from this gamble to live like a king or he’d not bother. He’d be a fool to stop now when he was so close to making his fortune.
He’d chosen his tools carefully. The little knife he took out now was a butcher’s tool, one used for sticking a pig and draining off the fresh blood for pudding. He’d been surprised to find that such a tool existed, but the moment he’d seen one, he’d bought it. It was short and sharp, with a fuller that passed through a tunnel in the knife’s hardwood handle and acted as a passage for the flow of blood.
He had moved to a fresh spot on the dragon’s body, on the neck just behind the jaw. He slapped at the mosquitoes that had found him and were now buzzing hungrily about his own ears and neck. ‘Just a very big mosquito,’ he suggested to the comatose dragon. He lifted one of the heavy scales on its neck, took a firm grip on his tool and punched it into its flesh.
The tool was as sharp as a grindstone could make it. Even so, it didn’t go in easily. The dragon gave a squeak in its sleep, a comical sound from so large a creature. Its clawed feet twitched against the muddy ground and Sedric knew a moment’s terror and very nearly fled. Instead, hands shaking, he’d taken a glass flask from his small pack and drawn the glass stopper out of it. He waited. After a moment, the blood began to fall, drop by shining drop. He manoeuvred his flask’s mouth under the falling drops and caught them, one by one.
His hands were shaking too much. He’d never done this sort of thing and found it much more distressing than he had imagined. A drop of blood missed the mouth of the flask and ran greasily over his fingers. He grimaced and then braced the neck of the flask against the end of the knife. In that instant, the drips became a trickle and then a sudden flow of blood. ‘Merciful Sa!’ he exclaimed in terror and delight. The flask grew heavy in his hand and then suddenly overflowed. He snatched it away. He had to pour out some of the blood before it would admit the stopper, and wished in vain that he had brought a second flask. He wiped his bloody hands on his trousers and then carefully stowed the flask in his pack. A quick tug freed the knife from the dragon’s flesh and he added it to the pack.
But the blood had continued to run.
The smell of it, reptilian and strangely rich, filled his nostrils. The insects that had been buzzing around his head forsook him for this flowing feast. They clustered around the wound, feeding greedily. The trickle of blood became a scarlet rivulet down the dragon’s shoulder. It dripped from the animal onto the trampled ground. A small puddle started to form. In the moonlight, it was black and then as he stared at the deepening pool, it reddened. It gleamed scarlet and crimson, the two reds swirling like dyes stirred into water, separated only by silver edging. He felt drawn to it and crouched by the puddle, entranced by the colour.
His gaze lifted to the thin stream of falling blood that fed the puddle. He put his hand out, touched two fingers to the flow. The stream parted and ran over his fingers like silken thread. He pulled his fingers back, watching the unimpeded flow and then set his bloody fingers to his mouth and licked them.
He recoiled from the touch of dragon’s blood on his tongue, shocked that he had obeyed an impulse he couldn’t even recall having. The taste of the blood flooded his mouth and filled his senses. He smelled it everywhere, not just in his nose but in the back of his throat and in the roof of his mouth. His ears rang with the scent, and his tongue tingled and stung. He tried to shake the remaining blood from his fingers, then wiped his hand down his shirt front. He was covered in blood and mud now. And still the dragon bled.
He stooped and cupped a handful of mud-and-blood. It was both warm and cold in his hand, and he felt as if it squirmed there, a liquid serpent coiling and uncoiling within his hand. He plastered it over the injury. When he lifted his hand, the tiny trickle of red burst forth afresh. Another handful of mud and another one, and the last one he held hard against the dragon’s throat, panting through his mouth both in fear and with the effort. He tasted and smelled only dragon, he felt dragon inside his mouth and down his throat. He was a dragon. There were scales down his neck and back, his claws were sunken in mud, his wings would not unfold and what was a dragon who could not fly? He rocked on his feet dizzily, and when he staggered back from the dragon, the flow of blood had finally ceased.
For a time he had stood there, his hands braced just above his knees, breathing the night air and trying to recover. When his head had cleared a bit, he straightened and felt instead of dizziness, a rush of horror at how badly he had managed this. What had happened to his stealth and his ‘leave no sign’ intentions? He was covered in mud and blood, and the dragon was lying in a pool of blood. How subtle!
He kicked mud over the blood, tore marsh grass loose and spread it there, and then kicked more mud over it. It seemed to take him hours. By moonlight, he could not tell if any red showed through his efforts on the ground or on the dragon’s neck. The creature slept on. At least it would have no recall of him.
He went back to the barge and attempted to reboard it. He spent an agonized near hour in the shadow of the bow. Above him, Leftrin and Alise talked softly about knots, of all things. When finally they moved away, he clambered up the rope ladder and fled to his cabin. There he had changed hastily into clean clothing and hidden his precious blood and scales in his case. It had taken him three furtive attempts before he was able to clean his muddy, bloody tracks from the deck of the barge. Leftrin and Alise had nearly caught him in the act of throwing his soiled clothing and ruined boots overboard. If they had not been so completely engrossed in one another, they would surely have discovered him.
But they had not. They had not, and the vial of blood that he now held in his hand was his prize for all he had gone through. He stared at it, at the slow shifting and tangling of the trapped red stuff inside it. Like serpents twining round one another, he thought, and a ghostly image of sea serpents wrapping round one another in the dim blue of an undersea world invaded his thoughts. He shook his head clear of the fancy, and resisted the sudden urge to uncap the flask and smell the contents. He had sealing wax in his case. He should melt some over the neck of the flask to seal it securely. He should. He’d do it later.
The sight of his treasure left him oddly calmed. He put the flask back into the secret drawer and took up a small shallow box made from cedar. He opened the sliding lid and looked inside. The scales rested there on a shallow bed of salt. They were slightly iridescent in the dim light of the cabin. He closed the lid, replaced the box in the secret drawer, and shut and locked it. They’d probably find the brown dragon dead. They wouldn’t suspect him, he suddenly knew. He’d covered his tracks well. He’d smeared the blood away and the wound from his knife was so tiny that no one would find it. He hadn’t killed the beast, not really. Everyone saw that it was nearly ready to die anyway. If his bleeding of the dragon had hastened its death, well, that didn’t mean he’d killed it. It was only an animal anyway, despite how Alise might moon over it. A dragon was only an animal, just like a cow or a chicken, to be used by a man in any way he saw fit.
Exactly the opposite, really.
The intrusion of that thought was so sudden and foreign that it shocked him. The opposite? That man was to be exploited by dragons as they saw fit? Preposterous. Where had such a silly idea come from?
He straightened his jacket, unlatched his door, and stepped out onto the Tarman’s deck.