《Blood of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #4)》


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    PROLOGUE


    Changes


    Tintaglia awoke feeling chilled and old. She had made a good kill and eaten heavily, but had not rested well. The festering wound under her left wing made it hard to find a comfortable position. If she stretched out, the hot swollen place pulled, and if she curled up, she felt the jabbing of the buried arrow. The pain spread out in her wing now when she opened it, as if some thistly plant were sending out runners inside her, prickling her with thorns as it grew. The weather had become colder as she flew toward the Rain Wilds. There were no deserts, no warm sands in this region of the world. Heat seemed to well up from the earth¡¯s heart in the Chalcedean deserts, making it nearly as warm as the southern lands were at this time of year. But now she had left the dry lands and warm sands behind, and winter¡¯s stranglehold on spring had claimed its due. The cold stiffened the flesh around her wound, making each morning a torment.


    IceFyre had not come with her. She had expected the old black dragon to accompany her, although she could not recall why. Dragons preferred to be solitary rather than social. To eat well, each needed a large hunting territory. It had only been when she had left his side and he had not followed that the humiliating realization had drenched her: she had been following him, all that time. She could not recall that he had ever requested her to stay; neither had he asked her to leave.


    He had all he needed from her. In the early excitement of discovering one another, they had mated. When she grew to full maturity, she would visit the nesting island, and there lay the eggs that he had already fertilized. But once he had impregnated her, there was no reason for him to stay with her. When her eggs hatched into serpents that would slither into the sea and renew the endless cycle of dragon-egg-serpent-cocoon-dragon, the memories of his lineage would continue. Eventually, there would be other dragons for him to encounter, when he chose to seek their company. She felt puzzled that she had lingered with him as long as she had. Having hatched so alone and isolated, had she learned undragonlike behaviour from humans?


    She uncoiled slowly and then even more gingerly, spread her wings to the overcast day. She stretched, already missing the warmth of the sands, and tried not to wonder if the journey back to Trehaug were beyond her strength. Had she waited too long, hoping she would heal on her own?


    It hurt to crane her neck to inspect the wound. It smelled foul and when she moved, pus oozed from it. She hissed in anger that such a thing had befallen her, and then used the strength of that anger to tighten the muscles there. The movement forced more liquid from the wound. It hurt and stank terribly, but when she had finished, her skin felt less tight. She could fly. Not without pain, and not swiftly, but she could fly. Tonight she would take more care in selecting her resting place. Taking flight from the riverbank where she presently found herself was going to be difficult.


    She wanted to fly directly to Trehaug in the hope of locating Malta and Reyn quickly and having one of her Elderling servants remove the arrowhead from her flesh. A direct route would have been best, but the thick forests of the region made that impossible. For a dragon to land in such a thickly treed area was difficult at the best of times; with a bad wing, she would certainly go crashing down through the canopy. So she had followed first the coast and then the Rain Wild River. The marshy banks and mud bars offered easy hunting as river mammals emerged on the shores to root and roll and as the forest creatures sought water. If she were fortunate, as she had been last night, she could combine a stoop on a large meal with a safe landing on a marshy riverfront strip.


    If she were unfortunate, she could always land in the river shallows and crawl out onto whatever bank the river offered. That, she feared, might be her best option this evening. And while she did not doubt that she could survive such an unpleasantly cold and wet landing, she dreaded the thought of attempting to take flight from such a place. As she had to do now.


    Wings half-extended, she walked down to the water¡¯s edge and drank, wrinkling her nostrils at the bitter taste of the water. Once she had sated her thirst, she opened her wings and sprang into the sky.


    With a wild flapping of her wings, she crashed back to earth again. It was not a long fall, but it jarred her, breaking her pain into sharp-edged fragments that stabbed every interior space of her body. The shock jabbed the air from her lungs and crushed a hoarse squawk of pain from her throat. She hit the ground badly, her wings still half-open. Her tender side struck the earth. Stunned, she sprawled, waiting for the agony to pass. It did not, but gradually it faded to a bearable level.


    Tintaglia lowered her head to her chest, gathered her legs under her and slowly folded her wings. She badly wanted to rest. But if she did she would awaken hungrier and stiffer than she was now and with the daylight fading. No. She had to fly and now. The longer she waited, the more her physical abilities would wane. She needed to fly while she still could.

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    She steeled herself to the pain, not allowing her body to compensate for it in any way. She simply had to endure it and fly as if it did not hurt. She burned that thought into her brain and then without pausing, opened her wings, crouched and launched herself upward.


    Every beat of her wings was like being stabbed with a fiery spear. She roared, giving voice to her fury at the pain, but did not vary the rhythm of her wing beats. Rising slowly into the air, she flew over the shallows of the river until finally she lifted clear of the trees that shaded the river¡¯s face. The wan sunlight touched her and the wilder winds of the open air buffeted her. The breezes were heavy with the threat of chilling rain to come. Well, let it come, then. Tintaglia was flying home.


    Day the 15th of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Reyall, Acting Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown


    To Erek Dunwarrow


    Enclosed in a standard message cylinder.


    My dear uncle,


    My delayed response to your offer is due to my utter surprise at receiving it. Over and over, I have read it, wondering if I am ready and more: if I am worthy of what you propose. To vouch for my promotion not only to a Master within the Guild but also to select me to take over your personal birds and cote ¡­ what can I say to such an honour? I know what these pigeons mean to you, and I have faithfully studied your breeding journals and your documentation of how you have improved the birds for both speed and vitality. I have been in awe of your knowledge. And now you propose to put your birds and your careful breeding plan into my hands?


    I shudder to think you will take this amiss, but I must ask you, are you certain you wish to do this?


    If, after consideration, you still wish to offer me this extraordinary opportunity, then yes, I will accept it and endeavour for all the rest of my life to prove worthy of it! But be assured, if you have reconsidered, there will be no ill will between us. To know that you even considered me worthy of such an honour and responsibility makes me resolved to strive to be the keeper that you believe I can be.


    With humble thanks, your nephew,


    Reyall


    And please assure my Aunt Detozi of my good wishes and utter delight in her good fortune in wedding you!


    CHAPTER ONE


    Ending a Life


    She opened her eyes to a morning she didn¡¯t want. With great reluctance, she lifted her head and looked around the single room. The cabin was cold. The fire had been out for hours, and the cold and damp of the unseasonably cool spring had crept relentlessly in while she huddled under her worn blankets, waiting for her life to go away. It hadn¡¯t. Life had lingered to ambush her again with cold and damp, disappointment and loneliness. She clutched her thin covers to her chest as her eyes wandered to the stacked and sorted papers and parchments that had occupied her for the last week. There it was. Alise Finbok¡¯s life¡¯s work, all in one stack. Translations of ancient papers, speculations of her own, careful copies of old documents rendered in black ink with her best guesses at the missing words inked in red. Deprived of any significant purpose in her own life, she had retreated to ancient days and taken pride in her scholarly knowledge of them. She knew how Elderlings had once lived and interacted with dragons. She knew the names of Elderlings and dragons of old, she knew their habits; she knew so much about a past that no longer had any relevance.


    Elderlings and dragons had returned to the world. She had witnessed that miracle. And they would reclaim the ancient city of Kelsingra and take up their lives there. All the secrets she had tried to tease out of old scrolls and mouldering tapestries meant nothing now. Once the new Elderlings gained their city, they would only need to touch the memory-stone there to discover all their history for themselves. All the secrets she had dreamed of discovering, all the puzzles she had longed to solve were finished now, and not by her. She was irrelevant.


    She surprised herself when she flung the blankets suddenly to one side and stood up. Cold wrapped her instantaneously. She stepped to her clothing trunks, the grand travelling trunks that she had packed so hopefully in the days before she left Bingtown. They had been stuffed when she began her journey, full of sensible clothes fit for a lady adventurer. Stoutly woven cotton blouses with a minimum of lace, split skirts for hiking, hats with veils to ward off insects and sun, sturdy leather boots ¡­ little but memories remained of them now. The hardships of travel had softened the fabrics. Her boots were scuffed and leaked, the ties now a series of knots. Laundering clothes in the acidic waters of the river had been her only choice, but seams had weakened and hems had frayed. She drew on a set of her worn clothes with no thought as to what they would look like. No one was going to look at her anyway. She was finished forever with worrying about what she looked like or what people thought of her.

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    An Elderling gown, Leftrin¡¯s gift to her, hung on a hook. Of all the clothing she owned, this alone retained its bright colours and supple softness. She longed for its warmth but could not bring herself to put it on. Rapskal had said it and said it clearly. She was not an Elderling. She had no right to the city of Kelsingra, no right to anything pertaining to Elderlings.


    Bitterness, hurt, and resignation to the reality Rapskal had voiced formed a tight, hard knot in her throat. She stared at the Elderling gown until the brilliant colours shimmered from her unshed tears. Her sorrow only deepened at the thought of the man who had given it to her. Her liveship captain. Leftrin. Despite the differences in their stations in life, they had fallen in love with one another during the arduous journey up the river. For the first time in her life, a man had admired her mind, respected her work and desired her body. He had kindled a like passion in her and awakened her to all that could exist between a man and a woman. He had created desires in her such as she had never known before.


    And then he had left her, here. Alone in a primitive cabin ¡­


    Stop it. Stop whining. She stared at the Elderling gown and forced herself to remember the wonderful moment when Leftrin had offered it to her, a priceless artefact, a family possession; he had shared it with her, with never a qualm. And she had worn it as armour against cold and wind and even loneliness. Worn it without a thought about its historical significance. How had she ever dared to rebuke the keepers for wanting something as warm and impervious as the ¡®priceless artefact¡¯ she had enjoyed so often? And Leftrin? Was she faulting him for her loneliness? Hypocrite! she rebuked herself.


    Leftrin had had no choice but to return to Cassarick to fetch supplies for them. He had not abandoned her; she had chosen to stay here, because she had believed that recording all that she saw in the untouched Elderling city was more important than being beside him. That choice had been hers. Leftrin had respected it. And now she was faulting him for that? He loved her. Shouldn¡¯t that be enough for her?


    For a moment, she teetered on accepting that. A man who loved her: what more did a woman need from life? Then she gritted her teeth as if she were going to tear a bandage from a partially healed wound.


    No. It wasn¡¯t enough. Not for her.


    It was time to put an end to all pretences. Time to be done with that life. Time to stop telling herself that if and when Leftrin returned and said he loved her, all would be well. What of her could he love? When all was stripped away, what part of her was real and worthy of his love? What sort of person would cling to the hope that someone else would return to give meaning to her life? What sort of quivering parasite needed someone else to validate her existence?


    Scrolls and sketches, paper and vellum in tidy stacks rested where she had left them. All her research and writing waited by the fireplace. The impulse to burn it all was gone. That had been last night¡¯s pit of despair, a tarry darkness so deep that she had not even had the energy to feed the papers to the flames.


    Cold daylight revealed that as a foolish vanity, the childish tantrum of ¡®Look what you made me do!¡¯ What had Rapskal and the other keepers done to her? Nothing except make her look at the truth of her life. Setting fire to her work would not have proved anything except that she wished to make them feel bad. Her mouth trembled for a moment and then set in a very strange smile. Ah, that temptation lingered; make them all hurt as she did! But they wouldn¡¯t. They wouldn¡¯t understand what she had destroyed. Besides, it was not worth the effort to go knock on a door and borrow coals from one of the keepers. No. Leave them there. Let them find this monument to what she had been, a woman made of paper and ink and pretence.


    Bundled in her old clothes, she pushed open the door of the cottage and stepped out into a wet, chill day. The wind slapped her face. Her disgust and hatred for all she had been rose like a tide in her. The meadow vista before her ended in the river, cold, grey and relentless. She had been caught in it once and nearly drowned. She let the thought form in her mind. It would be quick. Cold and unpleasant but quick. She spoke aloud the words that had rattled through her dreams all night. ¡®Time to end this life.¡¯ She lifted her face. The wind was pushing heavy clouds across a distant blue sky.


    You would kill yourself? Over that? Because Rapskal told you what you already knew? Sintara¡¯s touch on her mind was coldly amused. The dragon¡¯s consideration was distant and impartial. I recall that my ancestors witnessed humans doing this, deliberately choosing to terminate a lifespan that is already so brief as to be insignificant. Like gnats flying into flames. They flung themselves into rivers, or hanged themselves from bridges. So. The river? Is that how you will do this?

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    Sintara had not touched minds with her for weeks. For her to return now and to be so coldly curious fired anger in Alise. She scanned the sky. There. A tiny wink of sapphire against the distant clouds.


    She spoke aloud, giving vent to her outrage, as in a single heartbeat despair became defiance. ¡®End this life, I said. Not end MY life.¡¯ She watched the dragon tip her wings and slide down the sky toward the hills. Change took root in her, grew. ¡®Kill myself? In despair over all the days I¡¯ve wasted, all the ways I¡¯ve deceived myself? What would that do except prove that in the end I still could not escape my own foolishness? No. I¡¯m not ending my life, dragon. I¡¯m taking it. I¡¯m making it mine.¡¯


    For a long moment she felt nothing from Sintara. Probably the dragon had spotted some prey and lost all interest in the gnat-lifed woman who could not even kill a rabbit for her. Then, without warning, the dragon¡¯s thoughts boomed through her mind again.


    The shape of your thoughts has changed. I think you are finally becoming yourself.


    As she stared, the dragon suddenly clapped her wings tight to her body and dived on her prey. The abrupt absence of the dragon¡¯s touch on her mind was like a gust of wind boxing her ears. She was left stunned and alone.


    Becoming herself? The shape of her thoughts had changed? She decided abruptly that it was just Sintara trying to manipulate her again with her riddling, puzzling way of talk. Well, that was something else she had finished with! Never again would she willingly plunge herself into a dragon¡¯s glamour. Time to be done with that, time to be done with all of it. She turned on her heel and went back into the little cabin. It was also time to be done with childish demonstrations of hurt feelings. Moving with a purposeful ferocity that she had thought vanished with her youth, she tidied her papers into her trunk and shut the lid on them relentlessly. There. She looked around the rest of the cabin and shook her head. Pathetic that she had huddled so long in this small space and done nothing to make it more liveable. Was she waiting for Leftrin to come back and bring the comforts of his ship¡¯s cabin with him? Pitiful. She would not spend another hour sequestered here.


    She layered herself into every worn garment she owned. Outside again, she lifted her eyes to the forested hills behind the patchwork village. This was the world she lived in now and perhaps always would. Time to master it. Ignoring the sleety rain, she headed uphill and followed a trail the keepers had trodden, winding past a few of the other rehabilitated cottages before reaching the eaves of the dormant forest. Her resolution grew as she left the settlement behind. She could change. She wasn¡¯t chained to her past. She could become someone who wasn¡¯t merely a product of what others had done to her. It wasn¡¯t too late.


    When trails intersected, she chose to go up and to her right, reasoning that on her return, trails that went down and to her left would take her home. Ignoring the pull in her calves and buttocks and back, she punished muscles that had idled for weeks. The work of walking warmed her and she actually loosened her cloak and scarf. She looked about the forest as she had once studied Kelsingra, mentally logging the plants she knew and the ones she did not. A bare-thorned bramble patch might be thimble berries, a good thing to remember come summer.


    She came to a small stream and knelt by it to drink from cupped hands before crossing it and moving on. In a sheltered hollow, she found a small patch of wintergreen bushes, their scarlet berries still clinging. She felt as if she had discovered a cache of jewels. Making a bag of her scarf, she gathered as many as she could find. The sharp flavour of the berries would be a welcome addition to her menu, as well as efficacious against sore throats and coughs. The evergreen leaves she stripped, too, relishing their scent and already imagining the tea she would brew from them. She was surprised none of the keepers had found them and brought them back, and then realized how foreign these bushes would be to the canopy-bred hunters.


    Tying the scarf closed, she looped it through her belt before moving on. She left the deciduous trees behind and moved into evergreens. Their needled branches touched fingertips over her head, dimming the day¡¯s light and hushing the wind. The deep bed of fragrant needles and the quiet of the woods after the constant wind made her feel as if she had cupped her hands over her ears. It was a relief.


    She moved on through the forest. Hunger found her. She put a few of the wintergreen berries in her mouth and crushed them in her teeth, flooding her senses with the sharp taste and scent. Hunger passed.


    Alise came to a small clearing where a storm-blasted giant had fallen and taken a rank of its fellow trees down with it. A vine similar to ivy had cloaked the fallen tree. She studied it for a time, then seized one of the tough stems and pulled it free, though it did not come willingly. She stripped the leaves off it and tested her strength against it. Unable to break it with her bare hands, she nodded to herself. She could come back with a knife, cut lengths of the stuff, take it back to her cabin and weave with it. Baskets. Fish nets? Perhaps. She looked at it more closely. The leaf buds on it were starting to swell. Maybe winter was starting to loosen its grip on the land. Overhead, a distant hawk gave cry. She looked up through the gap in the forest roof. Only with that glimpse of sky did she realize how much of the day had passed. It was time she turned back. She had meant to gather green alder twigs for smoking fish and had not, but she would not be empty-handed. The wintergreen berries would be welcomed by all.

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    The downhill hike quickly woke pangs in different muscles of her legs. She gritted her teeth against them and went on.


    Serves me right for spending so much time sitting inside, she told herself grimly.


    It was in that stratum of forest where evergreens gave way to deciduous trees that she caught an odd scent. The wind blew more freely here and she halted where she stood, trying to puzzle it out. It smelled rank and yet strangely familiar. It was only when the creature stepped into view on the path in front of her that her mind made the connection. Cat, she thought to herself.


    He was not immediately aware of her. His head was low, and he sniffed at the ground with his mouth open. Long yellow fangs extended past his lower jaw. His coat was an uneven black, darker dapples against blackness. His ears were tufted and the muscles under his smooth fur bunched and slid as he moved.


    She was caught in disbelief, filled with wonder at the sight of an animal that no one had seen in ages. And then, almost immediately, her translation of an Elderling word popped into her mind. ¡®Pard,¡¯ she breathed aloud. ¡®A black pard.¡¯


    At her whisper, he lifted his head and looked directly at her with yellow eyes. Fear flooded her. Her own scent on the trail. That was what he sniffed at.


    Her heart leapt and then began hammering. The animal stared at her, perhaps as startled to see a human as she was to see a pard. Surely their kind had not met for generations. He opened his mouth, taking in her scent.


    She wanted to shriek but did not. She flung her panicky thought wide. Sintara! Sintara, a great cat stalks me, a pard! Help me!


    I cannot help you. Solve it yourself.


    The dragon¡¯s thought was not uninterested, merely factual. Alise could feel, in that moment of connection, that the dragon had fed heavily and was sinking into a satiated stupor. Even if she had wished to rouse herself, by the time she took flight and crossed the river and located Alise ¡­


    Useless thought. Focus on now.


    The cat was watching her and its wariness had become interest. The longer Alise stood there, frozen like a rabbit, the more his boldness would grow. Do something.


    ¡®Not prey!¡¯ she shouted at the animal. She seized the lapels of her cloak and tore it open wide, holding it out to make herself twice her natural size. ¡®Not prey!¡¯ she shouted at it again, deepening her voice. She flapped the sides of her cloak at the animal and forced her shaking body to jolt a step closer to it. If she ran, it would have her; if she stood still, it would have her. The thought galvanized her, and with a wordless roar of angry despair, she charged at the beast, flapping the sides of her cloak as she ran.


    It crouched and she knew then it would kill her. Her deep roar became a shriek of fury, and the cat suddenly snarled back. Alise ran out of breath. For a moment, silence held between the crouched cat and the flapping woman. Then the animal wheeled and raced off into the forest. It had left the path clear, and Alise did not pause but continued her fear-charged dash. She ran in bounds, ran as she had never known that anyone could run. The forest became a blur around her. Low branches ripped at her hair and clothing but she did not slow down. She gasped in cold air that burned her throat and dried her mouth and still she ran. She fled until darkness threatened the edges of her vision, and then she stumbled on, catching at tree trunks as she passed them to keep herself upright and moving. When finally her terror could no longer sustain her, she sank down, her back to a tree, and looked back the way she had come.


    Nothing moved in the forest, and when she forced her mouth to close and held her shuddering breath, she heard nothing save the pounding of her own heart. She felt as if hours passed before her breath moved easily in her dry mouth and her heart slowed to where she could hear the normal sounds of the forest. She listened, straining her ears, but heard only the wind in the bared branches. Clutching at the tree trunk, she dragged herself to her feet, wondering if her trembling legs could still hold her.


    Then, as she started down the path toward home, a ridiculous grin blossomed on her face. She had done it. She had faced down a pard, and saved herself, and was coming home triumphant, with wintergreen leaves for tea and berries, too. ¡®Not prey,¡¯ she whispered hoarsely to herself and her grin grew wider.


    She resettled her clothing as she strode, and pushed her wild hair out of her face. The rain was finding her now. Time to get home before she was completely soaked. She still had things to do tonight. Firewood and kindling to gather, coals to borrow to rekindle her fire, and water to haul for cooking. And she should tell Carson about the pard so he could caution the others. Then she could make her tea.


    A well-earned cup of wintergreen tea. Part of having her own life, now.

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    Day the 20th of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From the Bird Keepers¡¯ Guild, Bingtown


    To All Guild Members


    To be posted prominently in all halls


    It is essential that all members of the Guild remember that our profession is a time-honoured trade with rules, professional standards and secrets of bird handling, training and breeding that are confined to Guild members. Guild birds remain the property of the Guild, and the offspring of Guild birds remain the property of the Guild. Our reputation and the custom we have built up depend on our birds being the swiftest, the best trained and the healthiest. Our clients use Guild birds and bird keepers because they know they can rely on us and our birds for message transport that is quick and confidential.


    Of late, there has been a spate of complaints and queries about possible tampering with messages. At the same time, we have noticed more citizens turning to private flocks for the transport of messages. To make matters worse, the recent plague of red lice led to many of our customers being frustrated at the lack of available Guild birds to bear their messages.


    We must all remember that not only our reputations but our livelihoods are at stake. Our honour demands that members report any suspicions of message tampering.


    Likewise, any members stealing eggs or fledglings for personal use or profit must be reported.


    It is only by all of us adhering to our guild rules that we can maintain the quality of service that our patrons expect. Maintaining our standards will assure that we all prosper together.


    CHAPTER TWO


    Flight


    The dragons looped in wide circles over the river like swallows. Their flight looked effortless. The scarlet one was Heeby, and high above her, flying in an ever-widening gyre was Sintara, a blue gem against the blue sky. His heart soared as he finally spotted a set of emerald wings. Fente. His very own Fente. She had been flying for three days now, and every time Tats glimpsed her aloft his heart swelled with fondness and pride. Tinged, of course, with anxiety.


    Foolish one. I am a dragon. To me the skies belong. I know this is hard for an earthbound creature to grasp, but this is where I have always belonged.


    He could only smile at her condescension. You fly like thistledown, beauty on wings.


    Thistledown with talons! I go to the hunt!


    May you find red meat!


    Tats watched her tip her wings and peel away from the others, heading toward the foothills on the far side of the river. He felt a pang of disappointment. He probably would not see her again today. She would hunt, kill, gorge, sleep and in the evening she would return not to him but to Kelsingra, to soak in the baths there, or to sleep in one of the awakened dragon sanctuaries in the city. He knew it was for the best. It was what she needed if she was to grow and improve her flying. And he was so glad that his dragon was one of the first to achieve flight. But ¡­ but he missed her. Her success had left him more alone than ever.


    On the shoreline before him several other dragons were attempting what she had mastered. Carson was standing beside silver Spit, holding the tip of the dragon¡¯s extended wing as he inspected it for parasites. Spit already gleamed like a polished sword. Tats could tell that Carson was forcing the dragon to stretch his wing in the pretence of further grooming. Spit was rumbling in a way that was both unhappy and threatening. Carson was ignoring it. Not all of the dragons were enthusiastic participants in their exercises and practice. Spit was among the most recalcitrant. Ranculos was reckless one day and sullen the next. Midnight-blue Kalo simmered with dignified resentment that mere humans dared to supervise his efforts to fly, while Baliper was openly fearful of the moving river and would not attempt flight near it. Most of the others, he thought to himself, were simply lazy. Training to fly was demanding and painful work.


    Some, however, were intent on achieving flight, regardless of the cost. Dortean was still recovering from crashing to the earth through some trees. Sestican had torn a rent in the membrane of one wing. His keeper Lecter had held the injured wing open and wept as Carson had stitched up the tear.


    Mercor stood erect, his golden wings spread wide to the thin sunlight. Harrikin and Sylve were watching him, and Sylve¡¯s face was pinched with anxiety. Harrikin¡¯s dragon Ranculos watched jealously. The gold drake lifted his wings high and then gave them a short, sharp snap as if to assure himself all was working. He gathered himself, setting his weight back onto his hindquarters. As Tats watched, he leapt, wings spread and beating frantically. But he could not gain enough altitude for a full beat of his wings and the best he could manage was a long glide in parallel to the river before landing clumsily on the sandy shore. Tats let out a long sigh of disappointment and saw Sylve briefly cover her face with her hands. The golden dragon was growing thinner as he grew larger, and he did not gleam as he once had. Learning to fly and to hunt for himself was now a matter of survival. For the others as much as himself. Where he led, the other dragons would follow.

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    Mercor held an odd sway over the others, one Tats did not completely understand. In their serpent incarnations, he had led their ¡®tangle¡¯. It surprised Tats that a loyalty from a previous life prevailed still. But when Mercor had proclaimed that the flighted dragons must hunt only on the far side of the river, and leave the game on the village side alone so that the keepers might better provide for the grounded dragons, no one, dragon or keeper, had protested. Now the other dragons watched him limbering his wings, and Tats hoped that if Mercor made a successful flight, they would all become more willing in their efforts.


    Once the dragons could fly and hunt, life would become easier for all of them. The keepers would also be able to transfer their lives to Kelsingra. Tats thought of warm beds and hot water and sighed. He lifted his eyes again to watch Fente in flight.


    ¡®It¡¯s hard to let go of her, isn¡¯t it?¡¯


    He turned reluctantly at Alise¡¯s question. For a moment he was stricken, thinking she had seen to his core and knew how he pined for Thymara. Then he realized she spoke of his dragon, and tried to smile at her. The Bingtown woman had been quiet and grave of late, and distant. It was almost as if she had returned to being the stranger among them, the fine lady from Bingtown who had startled all of the Rain Wild keepers when they had first discovered she was a member of their expedition. Initially, she had competed with Thymara for Sintara¡¯s attention, but Thymara¡¯s competence as a hunter had soon won Sintara¡¯s belly if not her heart. Nevertheless, Alise had created her own place in the expedition company. She did not hunt, but she had helped groom and tend dragon injuries as best she could. And she had known things, information about dragons and Elderlings that had helped them along the way. For a time, it had seemed she was one of them.


    But Alise had not been chosen as keeper by any of the dragons, and Rapskal¡¯s declaration that the city belonged to the keepers had thrust her to one side. Tats still winced when he thought of that stark confrontation. When they had first reached Kelsingra, Alise had asserted her authority and decreed that nothing must be touched or changed until she had had a chance to thoroughly document the dead city. Tats had simply accepted her rule, as had the other keepers. It surprised him now to realize how much authority he had conceded to her simply because she was an adult and a scholar.


    But then had come the confrontation between her and Rapskal. Rapskal had been the only one of the keepers with free access to the city. His dragon Heeby had been the first to take flight, and unlike the other dragons, she had not minded carrying a passenger on her back. Heeby had provided passage to the city for Alise many times. But when Rapskal and Thymara had ventured to the city to explore and had returned the next day with a trove of warm Elderling garments to share with the other ragged keepers, Alise had been incensed. He had never seen the genteel Bingtown woman so angry. She had cried out to them that they must put the garments down ¡®this instant and stop tugging at them¡¯.


    And that was when Rapskal had defied her. He had told her, in his direct way, that the city was alive and belonged to the Elderlings, not to her. He had pointed out that he and his fellow keepers were Elderlings while she was and would remain a human. Despite his own heartbreak that day, despite seeing Thymara beside Rapskal, Tats had felt a flash of deep pity for Alise. And a stripe of shame and regret to see her so quickly retreat and withdraw from their company. When he thought about it now, he felt a bit guilty that he had not at least knocked at her door to ask if she was all right. He had been nursing his own heartbreak, but still, he should have gone to ask after her. The truth was, he hadn¡¯t even noticed she had been missing until she reappeared.


    Did her effort at conversation mean she had recovered from Rapskal¡¯s rebuke? He hoped so.


    He smiled at her as he replied, ¡®Fente has changed. She doesn¡¯t need me as she once did.¡¯


    ¡®Before long, none of them will.¡¯ She was not looking at him. Her gaze tracked his dragon across the sky. ¡®You will all have to start thinking of yourselves in a different way. Your own lives will come to have more significance to you. The dragons will take command of their own fates. And probably ours as well.¡¯


    ¡®What do you mean?¡¯


    Now she looked at him, a direct look with her brows raised as if startled that he did not immediately grasp what she had told him. ¡®I mean that dragons will rule the world again. As they used to.¡¯


    ¡®As they used to?¡¯ Tats echoed her words as he followed her toward the riverbank. It had become a new habit for all of them; the keepers and the flightless dragons gathered in the morning on the riverbank to discuss the day¡¯s tasks. He glanced around and for a moment was seized by the beauty of the scene. The keepers were gleaming figures in the fleeting morning mist, for all wore their Elderling garments daily now. Their dragons were scattered across the hillside and along the bank. They were limbering their wings, beating them hard against the meadow grass or stretching out necks and legs. They, too, gleamed brilliantly against the dew-heavy grasses of the wet meadow. At the bottom of the hill, Carson had given over his efforts with Spit and waited for them, Sedric at his side.

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    The leadership had evolved, Tats realized. For all Rapskal¡¯s charismatic speech when he had returned from Kelsingra, he had not assumed the command as Tats had thought he might. Probably because he was not interested in being a leader. He was handsome and cheerful, beloved by his fellows, but most of them spoke of him with a fond smile rather than deep respect. Rapskal remained as odd as he had always been, introspective one moment and bizarrely social the next. And happy with whom he was. The ambition that would have burned inside Tats was not even a spark to him.


    Carson was by years the oldest of those who had taken on a dragon. It seemed natural to cede authority to him, and the hunter did not shirk from it. For the most part, Carson assigned the daily tasks to the keepers, a few to groom and otherwise tend to the remaining dragons, and the rest of them to hunt or fish. If a keeper protested that he had a different task in mind that day, Carson did not let it become an issue. He recognized their individuality and did not attempt to impose his authority on them. As a result, all seemed to accept it.


    Alise had quietly claimed some of the menial but necessary tasks of daily living. She tended the smoking racks that preserved fish and meat for them, gathered edible greens and helped groom the dragons. Sylve, never the most successful hunter, had turned her energies to the preparation of meals. At Carson¡¯s suggestion, the keepers had returned to large shared meals. It was strange but nice to return to the communal meals and talk they had shared when they were moving the dragons upriver.


    It made him feel a bit less lonely.


    ¡®As they used to, and will again,¡¯ Alise continued. She glanced over at him. ¡®Seeing them in flight, watching all of you change ¡­ it puts a different light on all that I discovered in the course of my early studies. Dragons were the centre of the Elderling civilizations, with humans a separate population that lived apart from them, in settlements like the ones we found here. Humans raised crops and cattle which they traded to Elderlings in exchange for their wondrous goods. Look at the city across the river, Tats, and ask yourself, how did they feed themselves?¡¯


    ¡®Well, there were herds on the outskirts of the cities. Probably places to grow crops ¡­¡¯


    ¡®Probably. But humans were the ones to do that. Elderlings gave themselves and their lives over to their magic, and to tending the dragons. All they did and built and created was not for themselves, but for the dragons who overshadowed them.¡¯


    ¡®Ruled them? The dragons ruled them?¡¯ He wasn¡¯t enjoying the images in his mind.


    ¡®¡°Ruled¡± isn¡¯t quite the right word. Does Fente rule you?¡¯


    ¡®Of course not!¡¯


    ¡®And yet you gave your days over to hunting for her, and grooming her and otherwise caring for her.¡¯


    ¡®But I wanted to do those things.¡¯


    Alise smiled. ¡®And that is why ¡°ruled¡± is the wrong word. Charmed? Englamoured? I¡¯m not sure quite how to express it, but you do already know what I mean. If these dragons breed and bring more of their kind into the world, then inevitably they will end up running the world for their own benefit.¡¯


    ¡®That sounds so selfish!¡¯


    ¡®Does it? Isn¡¯t it what humans have done for generations? We claim the land as ours and turn it to our purposes. We change the channels of rivers and the face of the land so that we can travel by boat or grow a crop or graze cattle. And we think it only natural that we should shape the whole world to be comfortable and yielding for humankind. Why should dragons be any different in how they perceive the world?¡¯


    Tats was quiet for a time.


    ¡®It may not be a bad thing at all,¡¯ Alise observed into his silence. ¡®Maybe humans will lose some of their pettiness if they have dragons to contend with. Ah, look! Is that Ranculos? I would not have believed it possible!¡¯


    The huge scarlet dragon was in the air. He was not graceful. His tail was still too skinny, and his hindquarters flimsy for his size. Tats was about to observe that he was only gliding after a launch from a higher point, but at that moment the dragon¡¯s wings began to beat heavily, and what had been a glide turned into laboured flight as he gained altitude.


    Tats became aware of Harrikin. The tall slender keeper was racing down the hillside, almost in his dragon¡¯s shadow. As Ranculos beat his wings and rose upward, Harrikin cried out, ¡®Ware your course! Bank, bank your wings left! Not over the river, Ranculos! Not over the river!¡¯


    His cry was thin and breathless, and Tats doubted that the huge dragon heard him at all. If he did, he paid him no mind. Perhaps he was full of exhilaration; or perhaps he had decided to fly or die trying.

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    The red dragon lumbered into the sky, his hind legs dangling and twitching as he tried to pull them up into alignment with the rest of his body. Some of the other keepers were adding their voices to Harrikin¡¯s now. ¡®Too soon, Ranculos, too soon!¡¯


    ¡®Come back! Circle back!¡¯


    The red dragon ignored them. His laboured efforts carried him farther and farther from the shore. The steady beat of his wings became an uneven flapping.


    ¡®What is he doing? What is he thinking?¡¯


    ¡®Silence!¡¯ A trumpeted blast of sound and thought from Mercor quenched them all. ¡®Watch!¡¯ he commanded both humans and dragons.


    Ranculos hung suspended, wings wide now. His uncertainty was plain. He tipped and teetered as he began a wide circle, losing altitude as he did so. Then, as if realizing that he was closer to Kelsingra than the village, he resumed his course. But his weariness was evident now. His body drooped between his wings. The intersection of dragon and river became both obvious and inevitable.


    ¡®No-o-o-o!¡¯ Harrikin¡¯s low cry was a sound of agony. He stood stiffly, hands clutching at his face, his nails sinking into his cheeks as he stared. Ranculos¡¯s glide carried him farther and farther from the village. Below him, the grey river¡¯s greedy current raced relentlessly. Sylve gave Mercor a cautious glance, and then ran to stand beside Harrikin. Lecter plodded down the hillside toward his foster-brother, his broad shoulders slumped as if he shared Harrikin¡¯s desperation and already knew the outcome.


    Ranculos began to beat his wings, not steadily but in panic. Their uneven rhythm tipped and tilted him. He fluttered like a fledgling fallen too soon from the nest. His destination was the far side of the river but despite his battle with the air, all knew he could not attain it. Once, twice, thrice his wingtips scored white on the river¡¯s face and then his drooping hind legs snagged in the current and the waters snatched him from the sky, pinwheeling him wide-winged into the greyness. He slapped his wings uselessly against the water. Then he sank. The river smoothed over the spot where he had fallen as if he had never been.


    ¡®Ranculos! Ranculos!¡¯ Harrikin¡¯s voice went shrill and childish as he fell slowly to his knees. All eyes watched the river, hoping for what could not be. Nothing disturbed the rushing waters. Harrikin stared, straining toward the water. His hands went into fists as he shouted, ¡®Swim! Kick! Fight it, Ranculos! Don¡¯t give in! Don¡¯t give up!¡¯


    He lurched to his feet and took a dozen steps toward the water. Sylve, clutching at him, was dragged along. He halted and looked wildly about. Then a shudder passed over him, and he cried out, ¡®PLEASE! Please, Sa, not my dragon! Not my dragon!¡¯ The blowing wind swept his heartbroken prayer to one side. He fell to his knees again, and this time his head bent and he did not rise.


    A terrible silence flowed in as all stared at the empty river. Sylve glanced back at the other keepers, useless horror on her face. Lecter moved forward. He set one heavily scaled hand upon Harrikin¡¯s lean shoulder, and bowed his head. His shoulders heaved.


    Tats stared silently, sharing his agony. Guiltily, he stole a glance at the sky. It took him a moment to locate Fente, a winking green gem in the distance. As he watched, she dived on something, probably a deer. Unaware or uncaring? he wondered. He looked in vain for either of the other two dragons. If they realized that Ranculos was drowning, they gave no indication of it. Was it because they knew there was nothing anyone could do? He did not understand the seeming heartlessness of dragons toward one another.


    And sometimes, toward their keepers, he thought as the blue beauty that was Sintara abruptly swept across his field of vision. She, too, was on the hunt, skimming the distant hills on the other side of the water, unmindful of either Thymara standing alone on the shore or Ranculos perishing in the river¡¯s icy grip.


    ¡®Ranculos!¡¯ Sestican bellowed suddenly.


    Tats saw Lecter¡¯s head come up. He spun and then stared in horror as his blue dragon began a lumbering gallop down the hillside. Sestican opened his wings as he ran, baring the bright orange tracery on his blue wings. Lecter left his collapsed brother and began his own run on a path that would intercept his dragon, bellowing his pleas for him to stop. Davvie ran after him. The big blue dragon had been practising flight assiduously but even so, Tats was astonished when he suddenly leapt into the air, snapping his body into arrow-straight alignment and gaining air with every beat of his wings. He cleared his keeper¡¯s head but even so, he was barely a wing span above the river¡¯s surface as he began his attempt to cross. Lecter dissolved in hoarse screams of ¡®No! No! You¡¯re not ready yet! Not you, too! No!¡¯

 Page 10

    Davvie came to a halt beside him, both hands crossed over his mouth in horror.


    ¡®Let him go,¡¯ Mercor said wearily. There was no force behind his words but they carried to every ear. ¡®He takes the risk that each of us must chance, sooner or later. To stay here is to die slowly. Perhaps a swift drowning in cold water is a better choice.¡¯ The gold dragon¡¯s black eyes swirled as he watched Sestican¡¯s ponderous flight.


    The wind whispered across the meadow, scattering rain as it came. Tats squinted, grateful for the wetness on his cheeks.


    ¡®But perhaps not!¡¯ Mercor trumpeted abruptly. He reared onto his hind legs as he turned his gaze far downriver to stare at the opposite shore. Several of the other dragons mimicked him. Harrikin shot suddenly to his feet as Spit exclaimed, ¡®He¡¯s out! Ranculos crossed the river!¡¯


    Tats strained his eyes but could see nothing. The rain had become a grey haze, and the area the dragons observed was a warren of Elderling buildings crumbling into the water. But then Harrikin exclaimed, ¡®He is! He¡¯s out of the river. Bruised and battered, but he¡¯s alive. Ranculos is alive in Kelsingra!¡¯


    Harrikin suddenly seemed to notice Sylve. He swept her into his arms and spun with her in a giddy circle, crying, ¡®He¡¯s safe! He¡¯s safe! He¡¯s safe!¡¯ Sylve joined her laughter to his joyous cries. Then, abruptly, they stopped. ¡®Sestican?¡¯ Harrikin cried. ¡®Lecter! Lecter!¡¯ He and Sylve set off at a run toward Lecter.


    Lecter¡¯s blue dragon had neared the far shore. He arched his body, bending his head and shorter front legs down toward his suddenly dangling back feet, touched the ground with all four feet, wings wide, and for one instant, his landing was graceful. Then his speed betrayed him, and he tumbled in a somersault, wings still open. A mixed chorus of cheers, groans and a few hoots of laughter met his clumsy landing. But Lecter gave a wild shout of joy and leapt into the air. He spun, froggy grin wide to confront those who had laughed, demanding, ¡®And can your dragons do better?¡¯ He spotted Davvie and caught his lover in a crushing hug.


    A moment later, his foster-brother and Sylve had engulfed them both in a wild embrace. Then, to Tat¡¯s astonishment, Harrikin plucked Sylve free, spun her once and then, as he landed her, kissed her deeply. The gathering keepers were shouting joyously as they converged on them.


    ¡®It all changes,¡¯ Alise murmured quietly. She watched them embrace, saw them caught up in the mob of their friends, and then turned back to Tats. ¡®That¡¯s five now. Five dragons in Kelsingra.¡¯


    ¡®Ten left here,¡¯ Tats agreed. Then he added, as he saw that Harrikin and Sylve still held one another, oblivious to the whooping crowd around them, ¡®It has changed. What do you think of it?¡¯


    ¡®Do you believe what I think matters to them?¡¯ Alise asked him. The words could have sounded sour, but her question was sincere.


    Tats was silent for a moment. ¡®I think it does,¡¯ he said at last. ¡®I think it matters to all of us. You know so much of the past. Sometimes, I think you can see more clearly what may become of us ¡­¡¯ He faltered as he realized his words might seem unkind.


    ¡®Because I am not one of you. Because I only observe,¡¯ she spoke the words for him. As he nodded dumbly, embarrassed, she laughed aloud. ¡®It does give me a perspective that perhaps you lack.¡¯


    She gestured at Sylve and Harrikin. Hand in hand, they stood beside Lecter. The other keepers surrounded them, laughing and rejoicing. Davvie was with Lecter, and they, too, held hands. ¡®In Trehaug or Bingtown, that would be scandal. There, they would already be outcasts. Here, when you look aside when they kiss, it is not in disgust but to grant them privacy.¡¯


    Tats¡¯s attention drifted. He noticed Rapskal moving through the clustered keepers to stand by Thymara. He said something to her, and she laughed. Then he set his hand to her back, his fingers light on the mounded fabric of the Elderling garb that concealed her wings. Thymara gave a wriggle like a shiver and twitched out of his reach, but no offence showed on her face.


    Tats looked away from them and back to Alise. ¡®Or perhaps we look aside in envy,¡¯ he said, surprising himself with his honesty.


    ¡®It is hard for loneliness to gaze on happiness,¡¯ Alise admitted, and Tats realized that she thought his remark had been directed at her.


    ¡®At least, you know your loneliness will end soon,¡¯ he pointed out.


    She rewarded him with a smile. ¡®It will. And eventually, so will yours.¡¯


    He could not find a smile to answer hers. ¡®How can you seem so sure of that?¡¯

 Page 11

    She cocked her head and looked at him. ¡®It is as you said. I have a different perspective. But if I tell you what I foresee, you may not like the answer.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m ready to hear it,¡¯ he assured her, wondering if he was.


    She gazed over the gathered keepers and across the river. On the far side, he could just make out both dragons through the falling rain and mist. Ranculos had emerged far downstream of Sestican but was working his way along the riverbank. Sestican was a small blue figure making his slow way up one of the city¡¯s main streets. To the dragon baths, Tats suspected. Soaking in hot water was almost all the earthbound dragons spoke of any more. He let his gaze wander to the dragons on the near shore. They stared with longing. Mercor¡¯s neck was stretched toward Kelsingra as if sheer will could lift him there. Silver Spit and squat Relpda stood to one side, heads cocked like puzzled children. The other dragons were arrayed in a fan behind Mercor. Blue-black Kalo towered large over Jerd¡¯s small queen Veras. Baliper and Arbuc stayed a safe distance from the short-tempered black drake as they gazed longingly at the far shore. Tinder, the sole lavender dragon now developing tracery of royal blue on his wings, stood beside the two oranges, Dortean and Skrim. The last two dragons reminded Tats very much of their owners, Kase and Boxter. They always seemed to be in proximity to one another. Alise¡¯s measured words broke into his thoughts.


    ¡®You are young, even by Rain Wild standards. By Elderling count, my studies tell me your life has barely begun. You have not decades, but lifetimes before you. And I suspect that as Kelsingra comes back to life and its population grows, you will have many young women to choose from. You will find someone, eventually. Or possibly several someones, over the course of your many years.¡¯


    He stared at her, shocked into silence by such a prospect.


    ¡®Elderlings are not humans,¡¯ she asserted quietly. ¡®Of old, they were not bound by the conventions of humans.¡¯ She looked away from him, across the river to Kelsingra, as if she could see the future in the misty city. ¡®And I expect it will be so again. That you will live apart from us, and by your own rules.¡¯ She inclined her head toward the rejoicing. ¡®Now is not a time for you to stand here with me. You should go join them.¡¯


    Alise watched Tats hesitate. She thought him brave when he gave a tight nod and then started down the hill toward his own kind. He was the only one of them who had begun this journey as the tattooed son of a slave rather than a born Rain Wilder. Sometimes he still believed he was an outsider. But she could see the truth. He was as much an Elderling as any of them now, and would be to the end of his days. She pondered that as she hiked back to her cabin and sighed as she opened the door and entered her tidy domain. They were Elderlings, bonded to dragons, and she was not. She was the lone human on the landscape for days in all directions. The only one not bonded to a dragon. Her loneliness leapt up to strangle her again. She shook it off, turned her thoughts away from the rejoicing and longing on the riverbank and chose her tasks for the day. Green alder branches were needed for the fish-smoking racks. And there was always a need for dry kindling for the cook-fire. Both were becoming harder to find as the village exhausted the easy supply within an hour¡¯s walk. Both remained important gathering tasks and well within her capability. Not grand or sophisticated work, but it was hers. The vines she had discovered had proved to be excellent for weaving lightweight baskets for carrying twigs or kindling. She picked up one and shouldered into it. She had her own life and purpose. She took up the stout stave that Carson had brought to her which doubled as a walking stick. If she intended to stay in this part of the world and live alongside the Elderlings and their dragons, then she had to adapt to her new station.


    The only alternative was unthinkable. Return to Bingtown and her loveless sham of a marriage? Return to Hest¡¯s brutal mockery and her shadow life as his wife? No. Better a bare hut on a riverbank, with or even without Leftrin, than a return to that life. She squared her shoulders and firmed her will. It was so hard not to retreat to her supposed usefulness as a scholar of Elderlings and dragons. But she was learning. The work she did now was humble but essential and satisfying in a very different way from what she was accustomed to.


    Sylve had asked to be shown the way to the wintergreen berries. They would go together this afternoon to gather more berries and leaves and scout for other patches in the area. And they would go armed with staves, lest the pard returned. She smiled to herself as she thought of how astonished Carson had been at her tale of how she had frightened the big cat. He had made her promise to be at their shared meal that evening, to tell everyone what she had seen and where, and how she had evaded death. Made her promise also not to venture on such an extended exploration without a partner and without informing someone first.

 Page 12

    That night, standing before them and recounting all she knew about the legendary pards from the Elderling manuscripts of old, and then revealing how she had pretended to be a much larger creature to panic the animal, had been rewarding. Their laughter at her tale had not been mocking but admiring of her courage.


    She had a place now and a life, and it was one of her own making.


    Day the 22nd of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick


    To Winshaw, General Registrar of Birds, Bingtown


    I think it is ridiculous that a simple accounting error is leading to suspicions and accusations against me. I have told the Council numerous times that I am the victim of prejudice simply because I came to this post as a Tattooed rather than as one Rain Wilds born. The current journeymen feel a loyalty to their own kind that leads to this sort of suspicion and tattling. As they seem to have nothing better to do than spread evil rumours, I have doubled their duty hours.


    Yes, there is a discrepancy between the number of birds in our cotes now and the number that existed before the red lice plague completely subsided. It is for a simple reason: Birds died.


    In the crisis of the moment, I did not pay as much attention to paperwork as I did to attempting to keep birds alive. For this reason, yes, I burned dead birds before other bird keepers had witnessed that they were, indeed, dead. It was to stop the spread of contagion. And that is all it was.


    I cannot give you evidence of their deaths, unless you wish me to ship a package of ashes from the incineration site. I do not think that is a task worthy of my time.


    Do you?


    Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick


    Postscript: If any keeper sites are in need of journeymen, I have a surplus, and will gladly release any of them for service. The sooner my own apprentices can replace those disloyal to me, the sooner the operation of the Cassarick station will become more efficient and professional.


    CHAPTER THREE


    Hunters and Prey


    Sintara waded out of the river, cold water sheeting from her gleaming blue scales. When she reached the shore, she opened her wings, rocked back on her hind legs, and shook them, showering the sandy bank with droplets. As she folded them sleekly back to her sides, she feigned oblivion to how every dragon eye was fixed on her. She let her gaze rove over all of them, staring dragons and frozen keepers.


    Mercor broke the silence. ¡®You look well, Sintara.¡¯


    She knew it. It had not taken long. The long baths in simmering water, flights to muscle her and plenty of meat to put flesh on her bones. She finally felt like a dragon. She stood a moment longer to allow them all to notice how she had grown before dropping to all fours again. She regarded Mercor in silence for a few long moments before observing, ¡®And you do not. Still not flying, Mercor?¡¯


    He did not look aside from her disdain. ¡®Not yet. But soon, I hope.¡¯


    Sintara had spoken true. The golden drake had outgrown his flesh, as if the meat of his body were stretched too thinly over his bones. He was clean, meticulously groomed as ever, but he did not gleam as he once had.


    ¡®He will fly.¡¯


    The words were confident. Sintara turned her head. Her focus on Mercor had been such that she had forgotten there were other dragons present, let alone a mere human. Several of the Elderling youths had paused at their tasks to watch their encounter, but not Alise. She was working on Baliper, and as her hands moved over a long gash on his face, she kept her eyes on her task. The gash was fresh; she was blotting blood and dirt from it, rinsing the rag in a bucket at her feet. Baliper¡¯s eyes were closed.


    Sintara did not reply to Alise¡¯s assertion. Instead, she said, ¡®So you are Baliper¡¯s keeper now. Do you hope he will make you an Elderling? To give you a better life?¡¯


    The woman¡¯s eyes flickered to Sintara and then back to her work. ¡®No,¡¯ she replied shortly.


    ¡®My keeper is dead. I do not desire another one.¡¯ Baliper spoke in a profoundly emotionless voice.


    Alise stilled. She set one hand on the scarlet dragon¡¯s muscular neck. Then she stooped, rinsed her rag, and went on cleaning the gash.


    ¡®I understand that,¡¯ she said quietly. When she spoke to Sintara, her voice echoed Mercor¡¯s exactly. ¡®Why did you come here?¡¯


    It was an irritating question, not just because they both dared to ask her but because she was not, herself, certain of the answer. Why had she come? It was undragonlike to seek companionship with either other dragons or humans. She looked for a moment at Kelsingra, recalling why the Elderlings had created it: to lure dragons. To offer them the indulgences that only a city built by humans could provide.

 Page 13

    Something that Mercor had said long ago pushed into her thoughts. They had been discussing Elderlings and how dragons changed humans. She tried to recall his exact words and could not. Only that he had claimed humans changed dragons just as much as dragons changed humans.


    The thought was humiliating. Almost infuriating. Had her long exposure to humans changed her, given her a need for their company? Her blood coursed more strongly through her veins and her body answered her question. Not just company. She felt the wash of colour go through her scales, betraying her.


    ¡®Sintara. Was there a reason for this visit?¡¯


    Mercor had moved closer still. His voice was almost amused. ¡®I go where I please. Today, it pleased me to come here. Today it pleased me to look on what might have been drakes.¡¯


    He opened his wings, stretched them wide. They were larger than she recalled. He flexed them, testing them, and the breeze of them, heavy with his male scent, washed over her. ¡®It pleases me that you have come here, as well,¡¯ he observed.


    A sound. Had Alise laughed? Sintara snapped her gaze back to the woman, but her head was bent over her bucket as she wrung out her rag. She looked back at Mercor. He was folding his wings carefully. Kalo was watching both of them with interest. As was Spit. As she looked at him, the silver male reared back onto his hind legs and spread his wings as wide as they would go. Carson stood between them, looking very apprehensive. ¡®It needn¡¯t be Mercor!¡¯ the nasty little silver trumpeted suddenly. ¡®It could be me.¡¯


    She stared at him and felt her poison sacs swelling in her throat. He flapped his wings at her, releasing musk in a rank wind. She shook her head and bent her neck, snorting out the stench. ¡®It will never be you,¡¯ she spat at him.


    ¡®It might,¡¯ he countered and danced a step toward her. Kalo¡¯s eyes suddenly spun with anger.


    ¡®Spit!¡¯ Carson warned him but the silver pranced another step closer.


    Kalo lifted a clawed foot, set it deliberately on his tail. Spit squalled angrily and turned on the much larger dragon, opening his mouth wide to show his poison glands, scarlet and distended. Kalo trumpeted his challenge as he snapped his wing open, bowling the smaller dragon to one side as Carson leapt back with a roar of dismay to avoid being crushed.


    Kalo ignored the chaos behind him.


    ¡®I will fly the challenge!¡¯ the cobalt drake announced. He lifted his gaze to Sintara. She heard a distant cry and became aware that far overhead, Fente was circling. The small green queen watched it all with interest. The heat of Kalo¡¯s stare swept through her, and suddenly all she felt was anger, anger for all of them, all the stupid, flightless, useless males. A rippling of colour washed through her skin and echoed in her scales.


    ¡®Fly the challenge?¡¯ she roared back at all of the staring drakes. ¡®You fly nothing; none of you fly! I came to see it again, for myself. A field of drakes, as earthbound as cows. As useless to a queen as the old bones of a kill.¡¯


    ¡®Ranculos flies. Sestican flies,¡¯ Alise pointed out relentlessly. ¡®Two drakes at least have achieved flight. If they were the drakes you wanted ¡­¡¯


    The insult was too great. This time, Sintara spat acid. A controlled ball of it hit the earth a body¡¯s length from Alise. Baliper surged to his feet, eyes spinning sparks of rage. As he charged, Alise shrieked and ran. A spike on one knob of his outflung wings narrowly missed her. Sintara braced herself, flinging her own wings wide, but cobalt Kalo intercepted Baliper. As the two males slammed into one another, feinting with open mouths and slashing with clawed wings, the air was filled with the shouts and screams of Elderlings. Some fled, others raced toward the combatants.


    Sintara had only a moment to take in the spectacle before Mercor knocked her down. Gaunt as he was, he was still larger than she was. As she sprawled on the turf, he reared up over her and she expected him to spray her with venom. Instead he came down almost gently, his heavy forefeet pinning her wings to the earth and pressing painfully on the flexible bones.


    She opened her jaws to spew acid at him. He darted his head down, his mouth open wide to show her his swollen acid glands. ¡®Don¡¯t,¡¯ he hissed at her, and the finest mist of golden acid rode his word. The stinging kiss of it enveloped her head and she flung her face aside from it.


    He rumbled out his words, so that the others heard, but he pressed them strongly into her mind at the same time. ¡®You are impatient, queen. Understandably so. A little time more, and I will fly. And I will mate you.¡¯ He reared onto his hind legs again, lifting his forefeet off her wings as he did so. She stood up awkwardly, muddied, her wings bruised and aching as she folded them back to her body and scrabbled away.

 Page 14

    The battle between Baliper and Kalo had been brief; they stood at a distance from each other, snorting and posturing. Spit cavorted mockingly, a safe distance from the much larger drakes, randomly spitting acid as scampering keepers cried out warnings to one another. Sintara saw Alise watching her; the woman¡¯s eyes were large and anxious. When she stared at the woman, she backed up, lifting her hands to shield her face. It only made Sintara angrier. She fixed her fury on Mercor.


    ¡®Don¡¯t threaten me, drake.¡¯


    He turned his head slightly sideways. His wings were still half-open, ready to deal a stunning slap if she sprang at him. He spoke quietly, only into her mind. Not a threat, Sintara. A promise.


    As he closed his wings, his musk wafted toward her again. She knew her scales flushed with colours in response, the reflexive biological response of a queen in oestrus. His black eyes whirled with interest.


    She lifted onto her hind legs and turned away from him. As she sprang into the sky, she trumpeted, ¡®I hunt where I will, drake. I owe you nothing.¡¯ She beat her wings in hard, measured strokes, rising above them all.


    In the distance, green Fente trumpeted, shrill and mocking.


    ¡®Thymara!¡¯


    She turned slowly at the sound of Tats¡¯s greeting. Tension knotted in her belly. She had been avoiding this conversation. She¡¯d seen in Tats¡¯s eyes when she first returned from Kelsingra that he knew what had happened between her and Rapskal. She hadn¡¯t needed or wanted to discuss it with him. On the days since then, she had not avoided him completely, but she had thwarted his efforts to find her alone. She had found it almost as difficult as avoiding being alone with Rapskal. Tats had been subtle about trying to corner her. Rapskal had shown up on her doorstep the evening they had returned from Kelsingra, smiling far too knowingly when he asked her if she¡¯d care to go for an evening walk.


    He had come to the door of the small cottage she shared with Sylve and ostensibly with Jerd as well. The three had moved in together almost as soon as the keepers had settled in the village. Thymara could not recall that it had been a much-discussed decision; it had just seemed logical that the only three female keepers would share lodgings.


    Harrikin had helped them select which of the dilapidated structures they would claim as their own, and he had spent more than a few afternoons helping them make it habitable. Thanks to Harrikin, the chimney now drew the smoke out of the house, the roof leaked only when the wind was extremely strong, and there were shutters for the window openings. Furnishings were sparse and rough, but that was true of all the keepers¡¯ homes. From Carson, they had crudely tanned deer hides stretched over pole frames as a basis for their beds, and carved wooden utensils for eating with. Thymara was one of the best hunters, so they always had meat, both to eat and to trade to other keepers. Thymara had enjoyed her evenings with Sylve, and enjoyed them even more when some of the other keepers came by to share the fireside and talk. At first, Tats had been a frequent guest there, as had Rapskal.


    Jerd spent few nights there, returning sporadically to shuffle through her possessions for some particular item, or to share a meal with them while she complained about whichever of the males she was currently keeping company with. Despite her dislike for Jerd, Thymara could not deny a perverse fascination with her diatribes against her lovers. She was appalled at Jerd¡¯s casual sexuality and her tempers, her spewing of intimate details and how frequently she discarded one male keeper to take up with another. She had cycled through several of the keepers more than once. It was no secret in their small group that Boxter was hopelessly infatuated with her. He alone she seemed to spurn. Nortel had been her lover for at least three turns of her heart, and copper-eyed Kase had the distinction of having literally put her out of his cottage as well as his bed. She had seemed as astonished as angered that he had been the one to put an end to their liaisons. Thymara suspected that Kase was loyal to his cousin Boxter and wanted no part of breaking his heart.


    But that first evening after her time with Rapskal in Kelsingra, of course, Jerd had been home, and full of small and cutting comments. She took care to remind Thymara that Rapskal had once been her lover, however briefly, and that Tats, too, had shared her bed. Her presence had not made it any easier to tell Rapskal gently that she did not want to walk out with him that evening. It had been no easier to refuse him the next day, nor to put him off on the next. When finally she had told him that she doubted the wisdom of what she had done, and that her fear of conceiving a child was greater than her lust for him, Rapskal had surprised her by nodding gravely.


    ¡®It is a concern. I will take it on myself to find out how Elderlings once prevented conception, and when I know it, I will tell you. After that we can enjoy ourselves without fear.¡¯ He had said these words as they walked hand in hand along the riverbank, only a few evenings ago. She had laughed aloud, both charmed and alarmed, as she always was, by his childlike directness about things that were definitely not childish.

 Page 15

    ¡®So easily you set aside all the rules we grew up with?¡¯ she asked him.


    ¡®Those rules don¡¯t apply to us any more. If you¡¯d come back to Kelsingra with me and spend a bit more time with the stones, you¡¯d know that.¡¯


    ¡®Be careful of the memory-stone,¡¯ she had warned him.


    It was another rule they had grown up with. All Rain Wild children knew the danger of dallying in the stored memories in the stones. More than one youngster had been lost to them, drowned in memories of other times. Rapskal had shrugged her concerns aside.


    ¡®I¡¯ve told you. I use the stones and the memories they hold as they were intended. Some of it, I now understand, was street art. Some of them, especially the ones in the walls of homes, were personal memories, like a diary. Some are poetry, especially in the statues, or histories. But there will be a place where the Elderlings stored their magic and their medicines, and when I discover it, there I think I will find what we need. Does that comfort you?¡¯


    ¡®Somewhat.¡¯ She decided that she did not have to tell him right then that she was not sure if she would take him into her bed even if she knew it was safe to do so. She was not sure she could explain her reluctance. How could she explain to him what she did not understand herself? Easier not to talk about it.


    Easier not to discuss Rapskal with Tats as well. So she turned to him now with a half-smile and an apologetic, ¡®I was just about to go hunting. Carson has given me the Willow Ridge today.¡¯


    ¡®And me, also,¡¯ Tats answered easily. ¡®Carson wants us to hunt in pairs for safety. It¡¯s not just Alise¡¯s pards. Less chance that we¡¯ll be spooking each other¡¯s game away, too.¡¯


    She nodded dumbly. It had been bound to happen sooner or later. Since the keepers had gathered to discuss how best to encourage the dragons to fly, Carson had come up with a number of new ideas. Dividing the hunting territory to prevent conflicts and hunting with a partner for added safety had been one of them. Today, some keepers would be hunting the Long Valley, others the High Shore, and some would be fishing. The Willow Ridge paralleled the river and was, as they had named it, forested mostly with willow. It was prime range for deer to browse, and Carson had reserved it for his best bow-hunters.


    She had her gear and Tats had his. There was no excuse not to set out immediately. After the morning¡¯s conflict, Thymara had wanted to flee. Even though Sintara had taken no notice of her, had possibly not even seen her watching from the riverside, Thymara felt shamed by her dragon. She had not wanted to be around the other keepers; she didn¡¯t want to hear what they would be saying about her spoiled queen. Worse was that she kept trying to find a way to justify Sintara¡¯s arrogance and spite. She wanted to be able to defend her dragon. Sintara cared little or nothing for her. She knew that. Yet every time she thought she had divorced her feelings from the blue queen, every time she was sure she had made herself stop caring about her dragon, Sintara seemed to find a new way to wring emotions from her. Today it was shame.


    She tried to shake herself free of it as Tats fell into step beside her. It wasn¡¯t her fault. She had done nothing, but it did not help to know that. As they crossed the face of the meadow and passed the other keepers and the dragons, she told herself she was imagining that they were staring after her.


    Kase, Boxter, Nortel and Jerd had drawn grooming duty for the day. They were going over the earthbound dragons, checking for sucking parasites near their eyes and ear-holes while encouraging them to stretch out their wings. Arbuc was cooperating in his sweet but rather dim way while Tinder paced impatiently while awaiting attention. Ever since the lavender dragon¡¯s colours had started to develop, he had shown a dandyish side that had several of the keepers chuckling about his vanity. Alise was smoothing deer tallow into the new scratches that Kalo had given Baliper.


    Once the dragons had been groomed, the keepers would encourage each of the remaining dragons to make an effort at flight. Only after they had complied, at least nominally, would they be fed. Carson insisted.


    Thymara did not envy them their tasks. Of the dragons, only Mercor was patient when hungry. Spit was as foul-tempered, obnoxious and rude a creature as she¡¯d ever met. Even Carson could barely manage him. Nasty little Fente had been able to take flight, thank Sa, but gloriously green-and-gold Veras remained earthbound, and she was as vindictive as her keeper, Jerd. Kalo, the largest of the dragons, was almost suicidally determined to fly. Davvie was his keeper but today it was Boxter tending the dragon¡¯s numerous cuts and scratches he had acquired in his spat with Baliper. The spat that Sintara had provoked. Thymara walked faster. A day spent hunting and killing a deer and dragging it back to camp was definitely preferable to a day spent dealing with the other keepers and their dragons.

 Page 16

    At least she no longer had to deal with her own dragon. She cast her eyes skyward as she thought of Sintara and tried to deny the pang of abandonment she felt.


    ¡®Do you miss her?¡¯ Tats asked quietly.


    She almost resented that he could read her so clearly. ¡®I do. She doesn¡¯t make it easy. She touches my thoughts sometimes, for no reason that makes sense to me. She will suddenly be in my mind, bragging about the size of the bear she has killed, and how he fought but could not lay a claw on her. That was just a couple of days ago. Or she will suddenly show me something that she sees, a mountain capped with snow, or the reflection of the city in that deep river inlet. Something so beautiful that it leaves me gasping. And then, just like that, she¡¯s gone. And I can¡¯t even feel that she¡¯s there at all.¡¯


    She hadn¡¯t meant to tell him so much. He nodded sympathetically and then admitted, ¡®I feel Fente all the time. Like a thread that tugs at my mind. I know when she¡¯s hunting, when she¡¯s feeding ¡­ that¡¯s what she¡¯s doing now. Some sort of mountain goat; she doesn¡¯t like how his wool tastes.¡¯ He smiled fondly at his dragon¡¯s quirkiness, and then, as he glanced back at Thymara, his smiled faded. ¡®Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to rub salt in the wound. I don¡¯t know why Sintara treats you so badly. She¡¯s just so arrogant. So cruel. You¡¯re a good keeper, Thymara. You always kept her well groomed and well fed. You did better than most keepers. I don¡¯t know why she didn¡¯t love you.¡¯


    Her feelings must have shown on her face for he abruptly said, ¡®Sorry. I always say the wrong thing to you, even when I think I¡¯m stating the obvious. I guess I didn¡¯t need to say that. Sorry.¡¯


    ¡®I think she does love me,¡¯ Thymara said stiffly. ¡®As much as dragons can love their keepers. Well, perhaps ¡°values¡± is a better word. I know she doesn¡¯t like it when I groom one of the other dragons.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s jealousy. Not love,¡¯ Tats said.


    Thymara said nothing. It was getting dangerously close to a prickly topic. Instead, she walked a bit faster, and chose the steepest trail up the ridge. ¡®This is the shortest path,¡¯ she said, although he hadn¡¯t voiced an objection. ¡®I like to get as high as I can, and then hunt looking down on the deer. They don¡¯t seem as aware of me when I¡¯m above them.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s a plan,¡¯ Tats agreed, and for a time the climb took all their breath.


    She was glad not to talk. The morning air was fresh, and the day would have been cold if she had not been putting so much effort into the climb. The rain remained light, and the budding branches of the willows caught some of it before it touched them. They reached the crest of the ridge, and she led them upriver. When she struck a game trail she had not followed before, she took it. She had decided, without consulting Tats, that they needed to range farther than usual if they were to find any sizeable game. She intended to follow the ridge line, scouting new hunting territory as well as, she hoped, bringing home a large kill today.


    Silence had enveloped them since the climb. Part of it was the quiet of the hunter, part of it was that she didn¡¯t wish to talk about difficult things. Once, she recalled, her silences with Tats had been comfortable, the shared silences of friends who did not always need words to communicate. She missed that. Without thinking, she spoke aloud. ¡®Sometimes I wish we could go back to how things were between us before.¡¯


    ¡®Before what?¡¯ he asked her quietly.


    She shrugged one shoulder and glanced back at him as they walked in single file along the game trail. ¡®Before we left Trehaug. Before we became dragon keepers.¡¯ Before he had mated with Jerd. Back when romance and sexuality had been forbidden to her by the customs of the Rain Wilds. Before Tats had made it clear that he wanted her and stirred her feelings for him. Before life had become so stupidly complicated.


    Tats made no response and for a short time she lost herself in the beauty of the day. Light streamed down through breaks in the overcast. The wet black branches of the willows formed a net against the grey sky. Here and there, isolated yellow leaves clung to the branches. Under their feet, the fallen leaves were a deep sodden carpet, muffling their footfalls. The wind had quieted; it would not carry their scent. It was a hunter¡¯s perfect day.


    ¡®I wanted you even then. Back in Trehaug. I was just, well, scared of your father. Terrified of your mother. And I didn¡¯t know how to talk to you about it. It was all forbidden then.¡¯


    She cleared her throat. ¡®See how the trail forks there, and the big tree above it? If we climb it, we can have a clear view in all directions, and a good shot at anything that comes that way. Plenty of room for both of us to have a clear shot if we get one.¡¯

 Page 17

    ¡®I see it. Good plan,¡¯ he said shortly.


    Her claws helped her to make the ascent easily. The trees of this area were so small compared to those of her youth that she¡¯d had to learn a whole new set of climbing skills. She had one knee locked around a branch and was leaning down to offer Tats a hand when he asked, ¡®Are you ever going to talk to me about it?¡¯


    He had hold of her hand and his face was inches from hers, looking up at her. She was mostly upside down, and could not avoid his gaze. ¡®Do we have to?¡¯ she asked plaintively.


    He gave her some of his weight and then came up the tree so easily that she suspected he could have done it by himself all along. He settled himself on a branch slightly higher than hers, his back to the trunk, facing in the opposite direction so he could watch a different section of trail. For a short space of time, both of them were quiet as they arranged arrows to be handy and readied their bows. They settled. The day was quiet, the river¡¯s roar a distant murmur. She listened to bird calls. ¡®I want to,¡¯ Tats said as if no time had passed at all. ¡®I need to,¡¯ he added a moment later.


    ¡®Why?¡¯ she asked, but she knew.


    ¡®Because it makes me crazy to wonder about it. So I just want you to tell me, just so I know, even if you think it will hurt me. I won¡¯t be angry ¡­ well, I¡¯ll try not to be angry and I¡¯ll try not to show I¡¯m angry if I am ¡­ but I have to know, Thymara. Why did you choose Rapskal and not me?¡¯


    ¡®I didn¡¯t,¡¯ she said, and then spoke quickly before he could ask anything. ¡®This probably won¡¯t make sense to you. It doesn¡¯t make sense to me, and so I can¡¯t explain it to you. I like Rapskal. Well, I love Rapskal, just as I love you. How could we have been through all we¡¯ve been through together and not love one another? But it wasn¡¯t about what I felt for Rapskal that night. I didn¡¯t stop and think, ¡°Would I rather be doing this with Tats?¡± It was all about how I felt about me. About being me, and that suddenly it was something I could do if I wanted to. And I did want to.¡¯


    He was quiet for a time and then said gruffly, ¡®You¡¯re right. That makes no sense to me at all.¡¯


    She hoped he was going to leave it at that, but then he asked, ¡®So. Does that mean that when you were with me, you didn¡¯t want to do it with me?¡¯


    ¡®You know I¡¯ve wanted you,¡¯ she said in a low voice. ¡®You should know how hard it¡¯s been to say no to you, and no to myself.¡¯


    ¡®But then you decided to say yes to Rapskal.¡¯ He was relentless.


    She tried to think of an answer that would make him understand. There wasn¡¯t one.


    ¡®I think I said yes to myself, and Rapskal happened to be the person who was there when I said it. That doesn¡¯t sound very nice, does it? But there it is and it¡¯s the truth.¡¯


    ¡®I just wish ¡­¡¯ His voice tapered off. Then he cleared his throat and made himself go on, ¡®I just wish it could have been me. That you¡¯d waited for me, that I¡¯d been your first.¡¯


    She didn¡¯t want to know why yet she had to ask. ¡®Why?¡¯


    ¡®Because it would have been something special, something we could have remembered together for the rest of our lives.¡¯


    His voice had gone husky and sentimental but instead of moving her, it made her angry. Her voice went low and bitter as venom. ¡®Like you waited for your first time to be with me?¡¯


    He leaned forward and turned his head to look at her. She felt him move, but would not turn her head to meet his gaze. ¡®I can¡¯t believe that still bothers you, Thymara. After all the time we¡¯ve known each other, you should know that you¡¯ve always meant more to me than Jerd ever could. Yes, that happened between us, and I¡¯m not proud of it. It was a mistake. There. I admit it, it was a huge mistake, but I was stupid and, well, she was right there, offering it to me, and you know, I just think that it¡¯s different for a man. Is that why you went to Rapskal? Because you were jealous? That makes no sense at all, you know. Because he was with Jerd, too.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not jealous,¡¯ she said. And it was true. The jealousy had burned away, but she had to acknowledge the hurt that remained. ¡®I¡¯ll admit that there was a time when it really bothered me. Because I had thought there was something special between us. And because, in all honesty, Jerd rubbed my face in it. She made it seem like if I had you, then I was picking up her leavings.¡¯


    ¡®Her leavings.¡¯ His voice went very flat. ¡®That¡¯s how you think of me? Something she discarded, so I can¡¯t be good enough for you.¡¯

 Page 18

    Anger was building in his voice. Well, she was getting angry, too. He¡¯d wanted her to tell him the truth, promised he wouldn¡¯t get angry, but obviously he was now looking for any excuse to show her the anger he¡¯d felt all along. Making it impossible to admit that, yes, she had since then rather wished it had been him rather than Rapskal. Tats was solid and real in her life, someone she had always felt she could count on as a partner. Rapskal was flighty and weird, exotic and compelling and sometimes dangerously strange. ¡®Like the difference between bread and mushrooms,¡¯ she said.


    ¡®What?¡¯ The tree branches creaked as he shifted his weight. A distant scream sounded.


    ¡®Quiet! Listen!¡¯


    The sound came again. Not a scream. At least, not a human scream, and not a sound of distress. A sound of excitement. A call. The hairs prickled up on the back of her neck and arms. The sound came again, longer, rising and falling, a wailing noise. As it started to die away, another voice took it up, and then another. She gripped her bow tightly and set her back firmly to the tree. The sounds were coming closer. And there was another noise, a heavy thudding of hooves.


    Tats moved through the tree, clambering around until he was above her and staring in the same direction. She could almost feel the hoof-beats; a very large animal was running in their direction. No. Two. Three? She hunched down to grip the tree and peer along the game trail.


    They were not elk, but were perhaps kin to them. Antlerless, with large hummocks of flesh on their front shoulders, and taller at the shoulder than Carson. They were running flat out, throwing up chunks of forest floor as they came. They were too large for this game trail; they were running down it because they¡¯d been driven. Low branches slapped against them and broke as they fled on. The nostrils of the creature in front were flared wide and blood-red. Flecks of foam flew from his mouth as he came on. The animals behind him were as frantic. They breathed out shrill terror as they ran and the stench of their fear hung in the forest after they¡¯d thundered past. Neither she nor Tats had even nocked an arrow, Thymara realized in disgust.


    ¡®What were they ¡­?¡¯ Tats began, and then a long wailing cry rose and fell again. Another answered, and it was not distant now, but coming closer.


    Thymara knew what wolves were. They did not live in the Rain Wilds, but even so, in the old tales that people still told, wolves were the ravening predators that made people shiver in the night. Her imagination, she now saw, had been insufficient for the task. They were huge creatures, red-tongued and white-toothed, shaggy and joyous in their blood-thirst. They poured along the game trail, five, six, eight of them, running flat out, and yet somehow still managing to give tongue to their hunt. It was not a howl, but a yipping, wailing call that said all that meat would soon be theirs.


    As the intervening trees and branches blocked them from sight and their hunting calls began to fade, Tats climbed down past her, and then jumped with a thud to the ground. She sighed and shook her head. He was right. After that cacophony, no game animal would remain anywhere in their vicinity. She followed him down and called out in annoyance, ¡®You¡¯re going the wrong way!¡¯


    ¡®No, I¡¯m not. I¡¯ve got to see this.¡¯ Tats had been walking. Now he broke into a jog, following the same trail the elk and the wolves had taken.


    ¡®Don¡¯t be stupid! They¡¯d be just as happy to tear you to pieces as those elk, or whatever they were!¡¯


    He didn¡¯t hear her or he didn¡¯t care. She stood a moment, wondering if her fear or her anger were stronger. Then she started after him. ¡®TATS!¡¯ She didn¡¯t care how loud she yelled. There was no game left in this area anyway. ¡®Carson told us to hunt in twos! Those wolves are exactly what he warned us about!¡¯


    He was out of sight and she stood still for one indecisive moment. She could go back and tell Carson and the others what had happened. If Tats came back, it would seem childish tale-carrying. If he didn¡¯t, she would have let him go to his death alone. Teeth clenched, she put her bow on her back and took an arrow into her hand as if it were a stabbing spear. She hiked her tunic up and tucked it into its belt and set out running.


    Running was not a skill the tree-raised children of the Rain Wilds practised much. She¡¯d become a better runner since coming to this place, but it still felt almost dangerous. How did one run and remain aware of one¡¯s surroundings? How could she listen when her heart was pounding in her ears, or scent anything when panting through her mouth?


    The game trail wound along the ridge, avoiding the densest brush and threading its way through the groves of trees. Tats, she discovered, was a strong and swift runner. She did not even see him for a time, but followed the trampled trail the immense deer had left.

 Page 19

    When the game trail left the ridge and plunged across a steeper slope toward the river, she caught her first glimpse of Tats. He was running, bow gripped in one hand, head down, free hand pumping. She lifted her eyes and saw, not the hunt, but swaying brush that told of the fleeing animals. The whining excitement of the wolves carried back to her and infected her with something of their frenzy. She tucked her chin to her chest, tightened her wings to her back and ran, bounding in leaps as the slope of the trail became steeper. ¡®Tats!¡¯ she called again, but breathlessly and without carrying power. The trail suddenly twisted, heading up the slope again. She gritted her teeth and pounded on.


    Lifting her head, she saw Tats ahead of her. He had paused at the crest of the hill. ¡®Tats!¡¯ she yelled, and this time she saw him turn his head. He stood still, and much as she would have liked to slow down, or even to drop to a walk and catch her breath, she pushed herself to run up the hill.


    As she reached his side, she found herself both breathless and speechless. Tats, too, stood staring down and across the hillside before them.


    The hunt had gone on without them. The deer and their pursuers must have leapt across the extremely steep slope before them. The whole hillside was pocked with hoof-prints and flung earth. Below them, the remains of an Elderling road paralleled the game trail for a short distance before turning toward the river. From their vantage point, Thymara could see that the road ventured out onto the ruins of a bridge, where it ended abruptly in jagged timbers and tumbled stone. Once that bridge must have spanned the river, a feat that seemed impossible now: she could glimpse the other end of the bridge on the far side of the river, similarly truncated.


    Far below the ragged end of the bridge¡¯s arc, the river foamed and boiled. On the near shore, the road that once must have joined to the bridge approach was a succession of broken surfaces. Trees had encroached and parts of it had broken and slid down as the river gnawed at the shores. Of the roadway that should have led to their current village, there was no sign. Long ago the river had shifted in its bed to devour it, and then shifted back, ceding its place to tussocky meadow.


    ¡®They¡¯ve got them cornered,¡¯ Tats announced. ¡®The wolves must know this place. They¡¯re driving the deer right out to the end.¡¯


    He was right. Her eyes found first the fleeing animals and then, through a screen of trees, the wolves behind them. She glanced back at Tats, only to discover that he was sliding down the steep slope. He¡¯d started out in a crouch, but soon sat down abruptly and slid. He vanished from sight in the rough brush that cloaked the lower slope.


    ¡®Are you STUPID?!¡¯ she yelled angrily after him. Then, cursing herself for a bigger fool than he was, she followed him. His passage had loosened the scree and rain had made the earth slippery. She kept her feet longer than he had, but eventually fell over on one hip and slid the rest of the way, earth and brambly brush bunching up against her as she went down. He was waiting for her at the bottom.


    ¡®Be quiet!¡¯ he cautioned her, and then held out a hand. Grudgingly she took it and let him pull her to her feet. They scrambled up a short slope and suddenly found themselves out in the open on a section of the old road.


    Nothing now blocked their view of the drama in front of them. The wolves were indeed driving the deer. Decorative stone walls framed the bridge¡¯s approach, funnelling the deer out onto it. The lead animal, swifter than the other two, had already realized his error. He¡¯d reached the end of the sheared-off bridge and now moved unsteadily, his huge head casting back and forth as he looked for some safe passage down. There was none. Far below him, the waters raged past.


    One of the other animals was limping badly, and had fallen behind. The second beast was still running, apparently unaware that they had been driven to a drop-off. As they watched, the pack of wolves poured out onto the bridge. Unlike their prey, they did not slow or hesitate.


    The lagging animal was engulfed. It went down, a single shriek its only protest. One of the wolves clamped its jaws onto the staggering animal¡¯s throat, as two others seized its hind legs. A fourth jolted into its shoulder and it went down and then over as yet another wolf went for its belly. It was all over then, long legs kicking hopelessly as it vanished under its attackers.


    The second deer, spurred by the scream of the dying animal, raced forward. Oblivious, or blinded by panic, it reached the end of the bridge and leapt off.


    The lead deer had come to bay. The largest of the three, he rounded on his pursuers. There were only three of them now, for the rest of the pack were engrossed in the creature they¡¯d already pulled down. The immense deer shook his head, menacing them with the memory of his antlers, and then stood tall, waiting. As the first wolf slunk in, the deer spun and kicked out with his hind legs, scoring a hit on the first wolf, but a second rushed in, to get under him and then turn his ravening jaws up to his belly. The deer hopped awkwardly, but could not break the wolf¡¯s grip, and as he struggled to get away, the last wolf sprang for his throat. By then, the first wolf was on his feet again. Thymara was astonished when he sprang from the ground, landed on the deer¡¯s back and then darted his head in to bite right behind his prey¡¯s head. The great deer staggered another two steps, and then folded onto its front knees. He died silently, trying to walk away even as his hindquarters collapsed. As he fell over, Tats let out a pent breath.

 Page 20

    Thymara realized she still had hold of his hand. ¡®We should get out of here,¡¯ she said in a low voice. ¡®If they turn around, there¡¯s nothing between them and us. And no place for us to run where they can¡¯t run faster.¡¯


    Tats didn¡¯t take his eyes off the scene before him. ¡®They¡¯ll gorge themselves and they won¡¯t be interested in us.¡¯ He suddenly snapped his gaze skyward. ¡®If they get a chance,¡¯ he added.


    Sintara fell on them like a blue thunderbolt, striking the thick huddle of wolves tearing at the first deer they had downed. The weight of her impact sent carcass and wolves sliding across the bridge deck to fetch up against the stone wall. She rode them, her rear talons set firmly in the carcass, her front claws tearing at the wolves as they went. By the time they slammed into the wall, she had closed her jaws on a wolf and lifted it aloft. Others, yelping in pain, sprawled in a trail behind her. None of them would hunt again.


    A fraction of a breath behind her, Fente hit the other deer and the three wolves that had killed it. Her strike was not as fortuitous. One wolf went spinning off the end of the bridge, and her impact sent the carcass flying after him. The second died in a screaming yelp while the third, ki-yi-ing in fright, fled back the way they had come.


    ¡®Tats!¡¯ Thymara shrieked the warning as the creature galloped toward them, but in one motion he swept her behind him with one arm while brandishing his bow like a staff. As the animal came on, it grew impossibly large, until she abruptly realized it truly was that big. If it had stood on its hind legs, it would have been taller than Tats. Jaws wide, tongue hanging red, it raced directly at them. Thymara sucked in a breath to scream, but then held it as the terrified wolf suddenly veered past them and scrabbled up the steep slope, to disappear in the brush.


    Belatedly, she realized she had a tight grip on the back of Tats¡¯s tunic. She released it as he turned and put his arms around her. For a time they held one another, both shaking. She lifted her face and looked over his shoulder. ¡®It¡¯s gone,¡¯ she said stupidly.


    ¡®I know,¡¯ he replied, but he didn¡¯t let her go. After a time, he said quietly, ¡®I¡¯m sorry that I slept with Jerd. Sorry in a lot of ways, but mostly that it hurt you. That it made it harder for us to ¡­¡¯ He let his words trail away.


    She took a breath. She knew what he wanted to hear and what she couldn¡¯t say. She wasn¡¯t sorry she had been with Rapskal. She didn¡¯t think it had been a mistake. She wished she had considered the decision more coolly but she found she could not tell Tats she was sorry for having done it. She found other words. ¡®What you and Jerd did had nothing to do with me, at the time. At first I was angry about it because of how I found out, and how stupid I felt. Then I was angry because of how Jerd made me feel. But that¡¯s not something you could have controlled or¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Of course! We¡¯ve been so stupid!¡¯


    She stepped away from him to look up at his face, affronted. But he wasn¡¯t looking at her, but past her, at the truncated bridge. She tried to see what had startled him. Sintara was still there, feeding on deer and wolf carcasses. Fente was gone, as was the sole dead wolf that had been the only fruit of her strike. She¡¯d probably gulped it down and taken flight. As she watched, Fente came suddenly into view, rising up from beyond the tattered end of the bridge. The slender green dragon beat her wings steadily, rising as she flew across the river. Halfway across, she banked her wings sharply and flew upstream, gaining altitude as she went.


    ¡®Why are we stupid?¡¯ Thymara demanded, dreading his answer.


    He took her by surprise when he exclaimed, ¡®This is what the dragons have needed all along. A launching platform. I bet that half of them could fly across the river today if they launched from here. At the very least, they¡¯d get close enough that even after they hit the water, they could wade out on the other side. They can all fly a bit now. If they could get across, soak in the waters, chances are that they could re-launch from that end of the bridge, and have a better chance of flight. And hunting.¡¯


    She thought carefully about it, measuring the bridge ends with her eyes and thinking over what she¡¯d seen the dragons do. ¡®It would work,¡¯ she agreed.


    ¡®I know!¡¯ He seized her in his arms, lifted her up against his chest and whirled her around. As he set her down, he kissed her, a sudden hard kiss that mashed her lips against her teeth and sent a bolt of heat through her body. Then, before she could react or respond to his kiss, he set her down and stooped to pick up the bow he had dropped when he embraced her. ¡®Let¡¯s go. News like this is more important than meat.¡¯

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    She closed her mouth. The abruptness of the kiss and Tats¡¯s assumption that something had just changed between them took her breath away. She should have pushed him away. She should run after him, throw her arms around him and kiss him properly. Her hammering heart jolted a hundred questions loose to rattle in her brain, but suddenly she didn¡¯t want to ask any of them. Let it be, for now. She drew a long breath and willed stillness into herself. Let her have time to think before either of them said anything more to one another. She chose casual words.


    ¡®You¡¯re right, we should go,¡¯ she agreed, but lingered a moment, watching Sintara feed. The blue queen had grown, as had her appetite. She braced a clawed forefoot on the deer, bent her head and tore a hindquarter free of the carcass. As she tipped her head back to swallow, her gleaming glance snagged on Thymara. For a moment she looked at her, maw full of meat. Then she began the arduous process of getting the leg down her gullet. Her sharp back teeth sheared flesh and crushed bone until she tossed the mangled section into the air and caught it again. She tipped her head back to swallow.


    ¡®Sintara,¡¯ Thymara whispered into the still winter air. She felt the briefest touch of acknowledgement. Then she turned to where Tats waited and they started back for the village.


    ¡®This is not what you promised me.¡¯ The finely dressed man rounded angrily on the fellow who held the chain fastened to Selden¡¯s wrist manacles. The wind off the water tugged at the rich man¡¯s heavy cloak and stirred his thinning hair. ¡®I can¡¯t present this to the Duke. A scrawny, coughing freak! You promised me a dragon-man. You said it would be the offspring of a woman and a dragon!¡¯


    The other man stared at him, his pale-blue eyes cold with fury. Selden returned his appraisal dully, trying to rouse his own interest. He had been jerked from a sleep that had been more like a stupor, dragged from below decks up two steep ladders, across a ship¡¯s deck and down onto a splintery dock. They¡¯d allowed him to keep his filthy blanket only because he¡¯d snatched it close as they woke him and no one had wanted to touch him to take it away. He didn¡¯t blame them. He knew he stank. His skin was stiff with salt sweat long dried. His hair hung past his shoulders in matted locks. He was hungry, thirsty and cold. And now he was being sold, like a dirty, shaggy monkey brought back from the hot lands.


    All around him on the docks, cargo was being unloaded and deals were being struck. He smelled coffee from somewhere, and raised voices shouting in Chalcedean besieged his ears. None of it was so different from the Bingtown docks when a ship came in. There was the same sense of urgency as cargo was hoisted from the deck to the docks, to be trundled away on barrows to warehouses. Or sold, on the spot, to eager buyers.


    His buyer did not look all that eager. Displeasure was writ large on his face. He still stood straight but years had begun to sag the flesh on his bones. Perhaps he had been a warrior once, his muscles long turned lax and his belly now heavy with fat. There were rings on his fingers and a massy silver chain around his neck. Once, perhaps, his power had been in his body; now he wore it in the richness of his garb and his absolute certainty that no one wished to displease him.


    Clearly, the man selling Selden to him agreed with that. He hunched as he spoke, lowering his head and eyes and near begging for approval.


    ¡®He is! He¡¯s a real dragon-man, just as I promised. Didn¡¯t you get what I sent to you, the sample of his flesh? You must have seen the scales on it. Just look!¡¯ The man turned and abruptly snatched away the blanket that had been Selden¡¯s sole garment. The blustery wind roared its mirth and blasted Selden¡¯s flesh. ¡®There, you see? See? He¡¯s scaled from head to toe. And look at those feet and hands! You ever see hands like that on a man? He¡¯s real, I promise you, lord. We¡¯re just off the ship, Chancellor Ellik. It was a long journey here. He needs to be washed and fed up a bit, yes, but once he¡¯s healthy again, you¡¯ll see he¡¯s all you want and more!¡¯


    Chancellor Ellik ran his eyes over Selden as if he were buying a hog for slaughter. ¡®I see he¡¯s cut and bruised from head to toe. Scarcely the condition in which I expect to find a very expensive purchase.¡¯


    ¡®He brought that on himself,¡¯ the merchant objected. ¡®He¡¯s bad-tempered. Attacked his keeper twice. The second time, the man had to give him a beating he¡¯d remember, or risk being attacked every time he came to feed him. He can be vicious. But that¡¯s the dragon in him, right? An ordinary man would have known there was no point starting a fight when he was chained to a staple. So there¡¯s yet another proof for you. He¡¯s half-dragon.¡¯

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    ¡®I¡¯m not,¡¯ Selden croaked. He was having trouble standing. The ground was solid under his feet; he knew that, and yet the sensation of rising and falling persisted. He¡¯d lived too long in the hold of a ship. The grey light of early morning seemed very bright to him, and the day very chilly. He remembered attacking his keeper, and why he¡¯d done it. He¡¯d hoped to force the man to kill him. He hadn¡¯t succeeded, and the man who had beaten him had taken great satisfaction in causing him as much pain as he could without doing deadly damage. For two days, he¡¯d scarcely been able to move.


    Selden made a lunge, snatched his blanket back and clutched it to his chest. The merchant fell back from him with a small cry. Selden moved as far from him as his chains would allow. He wanted to put the blanket back around his shoulders but feared he would fall over if he tried. So weak now. So sick. He stared at the men who controlled him, trying to force his weary brain to focus his thoughts. He was in no condition to challenge either of them. To which would he rather belong? He made a choice and changed what he had been about to say. He tried to clear his throat and then croaked out his words. ¡®I¡¯m not myself right now. I need food, and warm clothes and sleep.¡¯ He tried to find common ground, to wake some sympathy from either man. ¡®My father was no dragon. He was from Chalced, and your countryman. He was a ship¡¯s captain. His name was Kyle Haven. He came from a fishing town, from Shalport.¡¯ He looked around, hoping desperately as he asked, ¡®Is this Shalport? Are we in Shalport? Someone here will recall him. I¡¯ve been told I look like him.¡¯


    Glints of anger lit in the rich man¡¯s eyes. ¡®He talks? You didn¡¯t warn me of this!¡¯


    The merchant licked his lips. Plainly, he had not expected this to be a problem. He spoke quickly, his voice rising in a whine. ¡®He is a dragon-man, my lord. He speaks and walks as a man, but his body is that of a dragon. And he lies like a dragon, as all know that dragons are full of lies and deception.¡¯


    ¡®The body of a dragon!¡¯ Disdain filled the Chancellor¡¯s voice and eyes as he evaluated Selden. ¡®A lizard perhaps. A starved snake.¡¯


    Selden debated speaking again and chose silence. Best not to anger the man. And best to save what strength he had for whatever might come next. He had decided he stood a better chance of survival if he were sold to the courtier than he did if he remained with the merchant. Who knew where the man might try to sell him next or to whom? This was Chalced and he was considered a slave. He¡¯d already experienced how harsh the life of a slave could be. Already known the indignity and pain of being something that someone owned, a body to be sold. The sordid memory burst in his mind like an abscess leaking pus. He pushed it aside and clung instead to the emotion it brought.


    He clutched at his anger, fearing it was giving way to resignation. I will not die here, he promised himself. He reached deep into the core of his being, willing strength into his muscles. He forced himself to stand straighter, willed his shivering to cease. He blinked his rheumy eyes clear and fixed his stare on the rich man. Chancellor Ellik. A man of influence, then. He let his fury burn in his gaze. Buy me. He did not speak the words aloud but arrowed the thought at the man. Stillness grew in him.


    ¡®I will,¡¯ Chancellor Ellik replied as if Selden had spoken his words aloud and for one wild moment, he dared to hope he yet had some power over his life.


    But then the Chancellor turned his gaze on the merchant. ¡®I will honour our bargain. If a word such as ¡°honour¡± can be applied to such deception as you have practised against me! I will buy your ¡°dragon-man¡±. But for half the agreed price. And you should count yourself fortunate to get that.¡¯


    Selden more felt than saw the repressed hatred in the merchant¡¯s lowered eyes. But the man¡¯s response was mild. He thrust the end of Selden¡¯s chain toward the Chancellor. ¡®Of course, my lord. The slave is yours.¡¯


    Chancellor Ellik made no move to take it. He glanced over his shoulder, and a serving man stepped forward. He was muscled and lean, dressed in clean, well-made clothes. A house servant, then. His distaste for his task showed plain on his face. The Chancellor didn¡¯t care. He barked out his order. ¡®Take him to my quarters. See that he is made presentable.¡¯


    The servant scowled and gave a sharp jerk on the chain. ¡®Come, slave.¡¯ He spoke to Selden in the Common Tongue, then turned and walked briskly away, not even looking back to see how Selden lurched and hopped to keep up with him.


    And once again, his fate changed hands.


    Day the 25th of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

 Page 23

    From Reyall, Acting Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown


    To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug


    Enclosed, an offer of a reward for any new information regarding the fate of either Sedric Meldar or Alise Kincarron Finbok, members of the Tarman Expedition. Please duplicate the enclosed message of a reward and post widely in Trehaug, Cassarick and the lesser Rain Wild settlements.


    To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, a brief greeting from her nephew and an explanation of this new packaging for messages. I will write this directive on an outer envelope of fabric, and afterwards stitch it shut and dip it all in wax. Within is a tube of hollowed bone, sealed with wax, and within that an innermost tube of metal. The Guild leadership insists this will not overburden the birds, but I and many other bird keepers have reservations, especially concerning the smaller birds. Clearly something must be done to restore confidence in the privacy of messages sent and received, but this seems to me a measure that will punish the birds rather than root out any corrupt bird keepers. Could you and Erek add your voices to the opinions given on these new message holders?


    CHAPTER FOUR


    Opening Negotiations


    ¡®Who knew that a room this dismal could smell even worse than it looks?¡¯ Redding observed with cheerless sarcasm.


    ¡®Do be silent,¡¯ Hest told him, and pushed past him into the small room. It swayed alarmingly under his tread as he entered. It was not an inn room: Cassarick had no proper inns, only brothels, taverns where one might pay extra to sleep on a bench for the night and accommodations like this, rooms the size of a bird cage rented out by working families as a secondary source of income. The woman who had taken their money was some sort of a tailor. She had assured them that they were most fortunate to find any lodgings this late in the day. Hest had tried not to snarl at her as she had taken the exorbitant sum and then sent her young son to escort them to the small, unlocked chamber that dangled in the wind several branches away from her own.


    Redding had clung to the ridiculous piece of knotted line that pretended to be a handrail as they had negotiated the narrowing branch to their lodgings. Hest had not. He would far rather have plunged to his death in the forested depths below than make such a timid spectacle of himself. Redding, however, had no such reservations. He had whined and gibbered with tittering fear every step of the way along the rain-wet bridge until Hest had been sorely tempted to simply push him off the branch and move past him.


    Now he looked around the room and then grunted. It would have to do. The bed was small, the pottery hearth unswept, and he doubted that the bedding had been laundered since the last guest had used the pallet in the corner. It mattered little to him. He had a fine traditional inn room waiting for him back in Trehaug. He intended to conclude the Chalcedean¡¯s business here as quickly as possible, and then he had no doubt he could bribe some river-man to give him passage back to Trehaug tonight. Once there, he could begin his own business, that of tracking down his errant wife. True, she had left from Cassarick, but he saw no reason not to conduct his search for her from a comfortable room in Trehaug. After all, that was what runners were for, to be sent to ask questions and take messages to unpleasant places.


    He gritted his teeth as he abruptly realized that was how the Chalcedean was using him; he was his runner, sent to an unpleasant place to deliver a nasty message. Well. Get it over with. Only then could he get back to his own life.


    He had sought a rented room only for the privacy it would afford him for his meeting. The Chalcedean villain back in Bingtown had emphasized, over and over, that he must be more than discreet in these meetings and that the ¡®message¡¯ must be delivered in private. The process for setting up the meeting had certainly been ridiculous in the number of steps it required, for it had involved leaving a written message at an inn in Trehaug, waiting for a response and then obediently visiting a certain lift operator in the same city to ask for a recommendation for a room here in Cassarick. He had assumed the fellow would have had the sense to pick a decent place. Instead, he had been directed here. His only piece of good fortune had been that, by great coincidence, the impervious boat was also moving to Cassarick on the same day. He had not had to completely vacate his cabin there.


    He set down his modest pack and watched Redding lower his larger case to the floor. His travelling companion straightened up with a martyred groan. ¡®Well. Here we are. Now what? Are you ready to share a bit more with me about this mysterious trading partner of yours and the reason for his need for absolute confidentiality?¡¯


    It had not suited Hest to betray too much of his mission to Redding. He had explained their journey as a trading trip with the unfortunate extra mission of resolving the situation of his vanished wife. He had not mentioned Sedric¡¯s name; Redding was irrationally jealous of the man. There was no sense in provoking him with it right now; he¡¯d save it until such an outburst would be more amusing and to his advantage. Jealousy truly spurred Redding¡¯s efforts to be entertaining.

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    Of the Chalcedean blackguard, he had said nothing, and let Redding assume that all their furtive messages and odd contacts had to do with extremely valuable Elderling merchandise. The mystery had excited Redding and it had been enjoyable to thwart his efforts at questioning him. Nor had Hest mentioned the possibility that, if his mission succeeded perfectly, he¡¯d be establishing a rather large claim to Kelsingra. No sense in stimulating the little man¡¯s greed too much. He¡¯d reveal all at the proper moment, creating a tale of Trader cleverness that Redding would bark and bray all over Bingtown.


    Since Hest had arrived in the Rain Wilds every bit of news he had heard had convinced him that such a Kelsingra claim would mean wealth beyond imagining. Trehaug had been buzzing with second-hand rumours about Leftrin¡¯s visit and precipitous departure. There were rumours that the expedition had formed an alliance with the Khuprus family; certainly the captain of the Tarman had freely relied on their credit to restock his ship. Leftrin had flung accusations of treason and broken contracts, and then fled Cassarick without his money. That made no sense. Unless, of course, there was so much money to be made from another trip up the river that his pay from the Council no longer mattered to him. Now there was a thought.


    Most of the small vessels that had tried to follow the Tarman had since returned, but the one ship, twin to the one that Hest had travelled on, had not come back. Sunk in the river or still in pursuit, he wondered. If that ship could follow and survive the trip, then so could the vessel he had come on. He wondered how much it would cost him to hire it for a journey to Kelsingra. In Bingtown, the captain had been surly and secretive, as if he did not even want to sell Hest passage to Trehaug. Hest had had to bundle Redding aboard at the last minute when the captain was so eager to leave that Hest could push the issue of an extra passenger through. The captain might not be open to a trip farther up the river. But the captain of a ship was often not the owner. Perhaps the owners would be bold enough to speculate, perhaps to make the voyage for an offer of one tenth of whatever share in the city it ultimately gained for Hest?


    So far he had not mentioned his possible claim to anyone. Only two Traders had dared to ask him if his visit to the Rain Wilds was in connection with his vanished wife. He¡¯d stared them down. No sense in saying anything to anyone that might prompt them to come sniffing after the fortune that was rightfully his. Then he pushed that consideration from his mind. Much as he longed to distract himself from the business at hand, he knew he must finish it first before pursuing his own interest. Finish it and be done with the damned Chalcedean.


    So, ¡®Now we wait,¡¯ he announced, gingerly taking a seat in the only chair in the room, a contraption woven of dried vines. A rather flat cushion was the only protection for his bottom and the drape of canvas on the back added little or no comfort. But at least he could rest his legs after the interminable stairs. Redding looked around the room in vain and then, with a groan, squatted on the low bedstead, his knees jutting up uncomfortably. He crossed his arms on them and leaned forward, looking grumpy.


    ¡®Wait for what?¡¯


    ¡®Well, I should have said that I wait. I¡¯m afraid that my first meeting must be conducted in an extremely confidential manner. If all goes well, then soon I will receive a visit from a fellow responding to the note you left with Innkeeper Drost at the Frog and Oar Tavern in Trehaug. I will deliver certain items to him. In the meanwhile, you, dear fellow, should go out and amuse yourself for a time. When my business is concluded, I¡¯ll ask our landlady to send her boy for you.¡¯


    Redding sat up straighter and glints of dismay came into his eyes. ¡®Amuse myself? In this monkey village? Where, I ask you? It¡¯s getting dark, these tree branches they call paths are becoming slippery, and you want me to go out and wander about on my own? How will you send a boy for me when you won¡¯t know where I am? Hest, really, this is too much! We¡¯ve come on this ridiculous journey together and up to now, I¡¯ve done it all your way, climbing through trees, dropping off secret notes in filthy taverns, and even toting that box for you as if I were some kind of treetop donkey! I am hungry, wet through, chilled to the bone, and you want me to go back out in this foul weather?¡¯


    He lunged to his feet and attempted to pace the small room angrily. He looked more like a dog turning round and round before settling to sleep. His movements made the room sway. He halted, looking dizzy and angry. Hest watched his fury build to the popping point.


    ¡®I don¡¯t think your business is ¡°confidential¡±. I think you don¡¯t trust me. I am not going to be your lapdog the way Sedric was, dependent on you for everything, never making a move on my own! If you want my company, Hest, you¡¯ll have to respect me. I came on this jaunt with the aim of acquiring Rain Wild goods, as an independent trader. I brought my own funds for that purpose. I had thought that as we had become such good friends, I could avail myself of some of your business contacts as well. Not to compete with you or bid against you for anything you wanted, but only to make small investments of my own, in items you found unworthy of your time. And now that I am here and have come all this way and served you like a runner-boy, you intend to dismiss me as if I were some sort of brainless lackey or servant. Well, it won¡¯t do, Hest Finbok. It won¡¯t do at all.¡¯

 Page 25

    The chair was very uncomfortable. And he was as chilled and weary as Redding. Sedric would have had the good sense not to pick a quarrel with him at a time like this. Hest regarded the pink-cheeked man with his lower lip jutting like a petulant child, puffing away like a pug-nosed dog, and at that moment, seriously considered abandoning him there in Cassarick. Let him see just how well he managed as an ¡®independent trader¡¯.


    Then a far more appealing plan occurred to him.


    ¡®You¡¯re right, Redding.¡¯ At this concession, the man looked so startled that Hest was hard put to keep from laughing. But he put a serious expression on his face and continued, ¡®Let me show my confidence in you quite clearly. I¡¯m going to put you in charge of this meeting, and leave you to it. The men you will meet today represent some powerful trading interests. You may be a bit surprised to discover they are from Chalced¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Chalcedean traders? Here in the Rain Wilds?¡¯ Redding was, indeed, shocked.


    Hest raised his brows. ¡®Well, certainly you know that I¡¯ve made trading trips to Chalced, so you must know I¡¯ve contacts there. And three Chalcedean trading houses have established offices in Bingtown since the end of our hostilities with them. Indeed, I¡¯ve heard several members of the Bingtown Traders¡¯ Council say that they believed establishing trade relations with Chalced may be our best path to a lasting peace with them. When economic goals and benefits align, countries seldom go to war.¡¯


    Hest spoke smoothly. Redding¡¯s brow was wrinkled but he was nodding. Hest made the leap, trusting that Redding would accept whatever he said now. ¡®So it should be no surprise to you that some Chalcedean trading concerns have been making efforts to establish connections here in the Rain Wilds. There are, of course, backward elements that frown on such things. That is our reason for keeping the negotiations absolutely confidential. One of the individuals, Begasti Cored, you may recognize. He had made several journeys to Bingtown, before transferring his operation here to Cassarick. The other fellow, Sinad Arich, I have not met before. But he comes to me, of course, with the best credentials and references. I ¨C that is, we ¨C have been entrusted with messages from home for both these gentlemen. Gifts, as it were, in the form of two small boxes inside the very case you have handled so conscientiously for me since we left Bingtown.¡¯ Hest leaned forward and lowered his voice. ¡®These gifts and the message that accompany them come from someone very close to power in Chalced. Begasti Cored will be, perhaps, expecting me, though in the past Sedric was his contact. And the message we must deliver has to do with goods that Sedric promised to deliver to him. And has not, of course. So you see how delicate a position we are in, do you not? We must deliver the message and the gift, and encourage our Chalcedean counterparts to contact Sedric, if indeed they have any means of doing so, and impress on him the utmost importance of delivering his promised goods quickly.¡¯


    Hest took in a deep breath through his nostrils and then confided to Redding, ¡®I fear Sedric¡¯s failure to keep his end of the bargain has reflected very badly on me. A large part of my willingness to undergo the rigours of this journey was due to my need to retrieve my reputation! One of the things I need to request from Begasti Cored is a signed statement that his agreement was solely with Sedric, and not with me. And if he has the original document, well, having him surrender that to us would be even better.¡¯


    Hest¡¯s thoughts were racing as he marvelled at the brilliance of his inspiration. Redding would do the dirty work for him. Having Redding ask Cored for such a statement might free Hest from the Chalcedean¡¯s attention. And if there were any repercussions from meeting with Chalcedeans in Rain Wild territory, they would fall on Redding, not him. If need be, he could disavow any knowledge of the transaction. After all, it had been Redding who had taken the message to the tavern. Let him finish the errand, and leave Hest well clear of any later accusations of treason.


    Redding was still nodding, his eyes alight with interest. The unusual aspects of the transaction had seized his imagination. Hest took a long breath, trying to evaluate if his plan had any flaws. True, the Chalcedean had told him to deliver the message himself, but how would he know he had not? It would be all right. And it would serve Redding right for him to be the one who was there when the Chalcedeans opened their grim little tokens. Let him see just what demanding a share of Hest¡¯s business would gain him.


    He found a smile for Redding and leaned forward confidentially. ¡®I know that you compare yourself to Sedric and wonder if I am satisfied with you. Well, I will let you prove your worth to me now. Correct Sedric¡¯s errors in our dealings with these men, and you will clearly prove your superiority to him. I think you are worthy of this sort of trust, Redding. And having you demand it of me proves to me that you have the teeth to be a Trader and partner to me.¡¯

 Page 26

    Redding¡¯s cheeks had grown pinker and pinker. Beads of sweat had started on his brow and he was breathing through his mouth now. ¡®The message for them? Is it with the boxes?¡¯ He asked the questions eagerly.


    Hest shook his head. ¡®No, it is to be delivered by you. This is what you are to say.¡¯ He cleared his throat and the memorized words came easily. ¡®Your eldest sons send you greetings. They are prospering in the Duke¡¯s care. This is not something that every member of your families can say, but for your eldest sons, it is still true. For it to remain true, all you must do is complete your mission to prove your loyalty to the Duke. These tokens are sent to you to remind you that the promised shipment from you is still eagerly awaited. The Duke wishes you to do your utmost to see that it arrives swiftly.¡¯


    Redding opened his eyes wide. ¡®Must I use those exact words?¡¯


    Hest considered for a moment. ¡®Yes. You must. Have you paper and ink? I¡¯ll dictate them and you can read them if you cannot memorize them quickly.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ve, well, not with me, no, but ¡­ say it again. I can memorize it, or come close enough as will make no difference. The Duke? Sweet Sa, the Duke of Chalced! Oh, Hest, that is a high connection indeed! We do tread a fine line here, and now I understand all your calls for discretion. I won¡¯t fail you, my friend. I truly will not fail you in this! Oh, sweet Sa, my heart is pounding to think of it! But where will you be? Cannot you simply remain here and be the one to give the message?¡¯


    Hest cocked his head at him. ¡®But I¡¯ve told you, the meeting was to be highly confidential. They are expecting one man to be here, not two. I will step out for a time, find a hot cup of tea for myself or some sort of amusement while you conduct this bit of business.¡¯ He paused and then asked abruptly, ¡®Surely that was what you wanted?¡¯


    ¡®Well, no, I never meant to drive you away from your own¡ª¡¯


    ¡®No, none of that now, no!¡¯ Hest interrupted Redding¡¯s apologetic stuttering. ¡®No regrets! You¡¯ve drawn a line with me, and I respect you for that. I¡¯ll just step out, and give you some time to try your wings with this. But before I go, I¡¯ll repeat the message one more time for you.¡¯


    They spotted the first dragon when Leftrin knew they were still at least three days from Kelsingra. The ship had alerted him to it, not in any overt way, but as a sudden shivering that ran up Leftrin¡¯s spine and ended in a prickling on his scalp. He¡¯d scratched his head, turned his eyes skyward to see if Tarman were warning him of an approaching squall, and seen instead a tiny chip of sapphire floating against the grey cloud cover.


    It vanished and for a moment he thought it had been an illusion. Then it appeared again, first as a pale-blue opal, winking at him through a haze of cloud, and then abruptly as a sparkling blue ¡­


    ¡®Dragon!¡¯ he shouted, startling everyone, as he pointed skyward.


    Hennesey was suddenly beside him. All knew he was the keenest-eyed of the crew and he proved it when he asserted, ¡®It¡¯s Sintara! See the gold-and-white tracery on her wings? She¡¯s learned to fly!¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m lucky I can make out it¡¯s a dragon,¡¯ Leftrin grumbled good-naturedly. He could not keep the grin from his face. So. The dragons were flying now, or at least one was. The elation he felt surprised him; he was as proud as a father watching a child¡¯s first steps. ¡®I wonder if the others are flying, too.¡¯


    Hennesey had no chance to reply.


    ¡®Can you call to her? Signal to her that we need her?¡¯ Reyn shouted the question as he pounded down the deck to Leftrin¡¯s side. Terrible hope lit his face.


    ¡®No.¡¯ Leftrin offered him no lies. ¡®And even if we could, there¡¯s no place along this stretch where she could alight. Still, it¡¯s good to see her, Khuprus. Take heart from that. We¡¯re only a few days out from Kelsingra now. Soon, very soon, we¡¯ll be where there are dragons, and perhaps we can get the help your boy needs.¡¯


    ¡®You are sure that Tarman can go no faster?¡¯


    It was another familiar question, and much as the captain sympathized with the young man, he was tired of answering it. ¡®The ship has his heart in what he¡¯s doing. Neither of us can ask more of him than that.¡¯


    Reyn looked as if he might say more, but was interrupted by faint shouts from downriver. Both men turned and looked aft.


    The vessel from Bingtown still pursued them. Their lookout had just spotted the dragon, probably after wondering what the crew of the Tarman was pointing and shouting about. Leftrin sighed. He was tired of seeing the ¡®impervious¡¯ ship off his stern. Time after time, Tarman had outdistanced them by travelling at night, only to have them catch up with them a day or so later. The speed the narrow vessel could maintain was uncanny. Leftrin suspected that the crew were risking their lives by rowing day and night to keep up with him. Someone had paid them very well indeed. Or perhaps they were treasure hunters, dreaming of making a fortune. That would account for their tireless efforts. He wished with all his heart that they would give up and go back. Now that they¡¯d seen a dragon in flight, it was a forlorn hope.

 Page 27

    If Sintara was aware of any of them, she gave no sign of it. She was hunting, ranging far to either side of the river in slow arcs. Leftrin made a mental note to add that to his growing collection of notes, charts and sketches of the river. If a dragon was hunting here, he suspected that it meant that there was solid ground back there some place. He could not imagine Sintara diving on anything that would require her crashing through layers of trees and ending in a swamp, nor that she would willingly dive on prey in the river. No. Back behind those layers of tall trees, there must be low meadows or perhaps even rolling foothills, precursors to the meadows and hills of Kelsingra. That would bear more exploring. Some day.


    ¡®Is she coming? Was it Tintaglia?¡¯


    Reyn looked down and away from the hope in Malta¡¯s blue eyes. He shook his head. ¡®She¡¯s not our dragon. I think if she were, we could feel her. No, it¡¯s one of the youngsters, a blue female called Sintara. Leftrin says that even if we could call out to her or signal her, there is nowhere she could land. But we are only a few days from Kelsingra at worst now. We¡¯ll be there soon, dear. And Phron will be fine.¡¯


    ¡®A few days,¡¯ Malta said dejectedly. She looked down on their sleeping child. She did not utter the words they were both thinking. Perhaps their boy did not have a few days.


    In his first few days on board Tarman, he had prospered. He had nursed and slept, wakened to stare at both of them intently with his deep-blue eyes, stretched and wiggled and grown. His legs and arms had fleshed out to plumpness, and his cheeks had become round. A healthy pink had suffused his body, making him appear much less lizard-like, and they had both dared to hope that the danger to the child had passed.


    But after those first few days, his improvement had faded. His sleep had become fitful, interspersed with long wailing fits when nothing could comfort him. His skin became dry, his eyes gummy. Reyn had schooled himself to endurance, though holding the screaming child for hours so that Malta could isolate herself in their cabin and get a bit of sleep had been one of the most maddening experiences of his life. A wide variety of possible solutions had been offered and tried, from wrapping him more securely in his blankets to offering him a few drops of rum to settle his stomach. Phron had been walked, joggled, bathed in warm water, rocked, sung to, left to cry it out and wept over. None of it had affected his thin, incessant wailing. Reyn had felt hopeless and frustrated, and Malta had sunk into a deep sadness. Even when the child slept, someone kept watch over him. All feared the moment when he would exhale a breath and not draw in another.


    ¡®Let him sleep by himself for just a few moments. Come with me. Stand and stretch a bit, and breathe the wind.¡¯


    Malta unfolded herself reluctantly, leaving Phron asleep in his basket. Reyn put his arm around her to guide her out of the canvas shelter and onto the open deck. The wind was chill, laden with the promise of more rain to come, but not even it could put colour into Malta¡¯s cheeks. She was exhausted. Reyn took her hand, feeling the fine bones beneath the thin flesh. Her hair was dry, fraying out of the golden braids pinned to her head; he could not recall the last time he had seen her brush it. ¡®You need to eat more,¡¯ he told her gently, and saw her wince as if he criticized her.


    ¡®I have lots of milk for him, and he nurses well. But he does not seem to take any good from it.¡¯


    ¡®That wasn¡¯t what I meant. I meant for your own sake. As well as his, of course.¡¯ Reyn fumbled through his words, and then gave up. He pulled her to him, put his cloak around her to shelter her and looked out over her head. ¡®Captain Leftrin told me that the last time they made the upriver journey through this area, the water got so shallow that they wandered for days trying to find a channel to follow. Hard to believe, isn¡¯t it?¡¯


    Malta looked out over the wide stretch of water and nodded. It seemed more lake than river here, reaching out in all directions. This section of the river moved more slowly, supporting more floating plant life. And the plants, at least, seemed to believe that spring was around the corner. New fronds twisted up from the water, waiting for warmer weather to unfurl into pads. Blackened strands of trailing weed showed green buds along their length.


    ¡®Once, Elderlings built grand homes along this waterfront, with special places for dragons to enjoy themselves. Some of the houses were on pilings: this time of year, they would have been little islands. Others were farther back, on the shore. They offered all sorts of comforts to visiting dragons. Stone platforms that became warm at a dragon¡¯s touch. Rooms with walls of glass and exotic plants where a dragon could sleep comfortably on a wild winter night. Or so the captain says the dragons told him.¡¯ He gestured at a distant rise covered with naked birch trees. Pink had begun to suffuse the white trunks, a sure sign of spring. ¡®I think we shall build our mansion there,¡¯ he told her grandly. ¡®White pillars, don¡¯t you think? And an immense roof garden. Rows and rows of decorative turnips.¡¯ He looked into her face, hoping he¡¯d wakened a smile there.

 Page 28

    His ploy to distract her with a daydream failed. ¡®Do you think the dragons will help our baby?¡¯ she asked in a low voice.


    He gave up his ruse. The same question had been torturing him. ¡®Why wouldn¡¯t they?¡¯ He tried to sound surprised at her question.


    ¡®Because they are dragons.¡¯ She sounded weary and discouraged. ¡®Because they may be heartless. As Tintaglia was heartless. She left her own kind helpless and starving. She made my little brother her singer, enchanted him with her glamour and then sent him off into the unknown. She did not seem to care when Selden vanished. She changed us and left us and never cared what it did to our lives.¡¯


    ¡®She is a dragon,¡¯ Reyn conceded. ¡®But only one. Perhaps the others are different.¡¯


    ¡®They were not different when I visited them at Cassarick. They were petty and selfish.¡¯


    ¡®They were miserable and hungry and helpless. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever met anyone who was miserable, hungry and helpless who was not also petty and selfish. The situation brings out the worst in everyone.¡¯


    ¡®But what if the dragons won¡¯t help Phron? What will we do then?¡¯


    He pulled her closer. ¡®Let¡¯s not borrow trouble from tomorrow. For right now, he lives and he sleeps. I think you should eat something and then you should sleep, too.¡¯


    ¡®I think you should both eat something and then go sleep together in the cabin. I¡¯ll stay here with Phron.¡¯


    Reyn lifted his eyes and smiled over Malta¡¯s head at his sister. ¡®Bless you, Tillamon. You truly don¡¯t mind?¡¯


    ¡®Not at all.¡¯ Her hair was loose around her shoulders and a gust of wind blew a stray lock across her face. She pushed it back and the simple gesture of baring her face caught his eye. There was colour in her cheeks and it suddenly came to Reyn that his sister looked younger and more alive than she had in years. He spoke without thinking, ¡®You look happy.¡¯


    Her expression changed to stricken. ¡®No. No, Reyn, I fear just as much as you do for Phron!¡¯


    Malta shook her head slowly. Her smile was sad but genuine. ¡®Sister, I know you do. You are always here to help us. But that doesn¡¯t mean you should not be happy with what you have found on this journey. Neither I nor Reyn resent that you¡¯ve ¡­¡¯


    Malta¡¯s voice tapered off as she glanced at him. Reyn knew that his face was frozen in confusion. ¡®Found what?¡¯ he demanded.


    ¡®Love,¡¯ Tillamon said simply. She met her brother¡¯s stare directly.


    Reyn¡¯s thoughts raced as his mind rapidly reinterpreted snatches of overheard conversations and moments glimpsed between Tillamon and ¡­ ¡®Hennesey?¡¯ he asked, caught between amazement and dismay. ¡®Hennesey, the first mate?¡¯ His tone conveyed all that his words did not say. His sister, a Trader-born woman, taking up with a common sailor? One with the air of a man used to womanizing?


    Her mouth went flat and her eyes unreadable. ¡®Hennesey. And it¡¯s none of your business, little brother. I came of age years ago. I make my own choices now.¡¯


    ¡®But¡ª¡¯


    ¡®I am so tired,¡¯ Malta suddenly interjected, turning in his embrace. ¡®Please, Reyn. Let¡¯s take this chance Tillamon is giving us to share a bed and some rest. It¡¯s been days since I¡¯ve slept beside you, and I always rest better when you are near me. Come.¡¯


    She tugged at his arm and he turned unwillingly to follow her. Getting her to rest was more important than quarrelling with his sister. Later, they could talk in private. In silence he followed her toward the chamber they would share. It was little more than a large cargo crate secured to the deck. Within was a pallet that had served them alternately as a bed. He did look forward to rest and to holding Malta as she slept. He had come to hate sleeping alone.


    It was as if Malta could read his thoughts. ¡®Let her be, Reyn. Think of what we have and how it comforts us. How can we resent Tillamon seeking the same?¡¯


    ¡®But ¡­ Hennesey?¡¯


    ¡®A man who works hard and loves what he does. A man who sees her and smiles at her rather than grinning mockingly or turning away. I think he¡¯s sincere, Reyn. And even if he is not, Tillamon is right. She is a woman grown and has been for years. It is not for us to say to whom she should entrust her heart.¡¯


    He drew breath to voice objections then sighed it out as Malta lifted the latch on the door. The airless little compartment suddenly looked inviting and cosy. His need for rest and for holding her flooded up through his body.


    ¡®Time enough later to worry. While we can sleep, we should.¡¯

 Page 29

    He nodded his agreement to that and followed her in.


    Day the 25th of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From your friend in Cassarick to Trader Finbok, Bingtown


    The need for caution has increased greatly and with it my expenses. I will expect my next payment to be double what the previous one was. It must all be in coin and delivered discreetly. Your last courier was an idiot, coming directly to where I work and delivering to me only a writ of credit rather than the cash payment we agreed upon.


    For this reason, the information I send you today is but the bare bones of what I know. Pay me, and you will know what I know.


    The traveller arrived, but not alone. His errand does not seem to be what you suggested it would be. Another stranger offered me substantial money for information about him. I was discreet, but information is what I sell. Or do not sell, if that is more profitable.


    The news from upriver is scarce. It might interest you, but for me to deliver it to you, I would have to receive hard coin, taken to the inn in Trehaug that was mentioned to you before and given only to the woman with red hair and a tattoo of three roses on her cheek.


    If any of this is done otherwise, our business will be over. You are not the only one who would like to know the inside secrets of Trader news before others do. And some of those others might be very interested to learn what I know of your business.


    A word to the wise is sufficient.


    CHAPTER FIVE


    Taking the Leap


    Getting the dragons from the riverside meadow to the bridge had taken more time and much more effort than anyone had expected. Sedric stood beside Carson and watched the last of the large dragons go down the steep slope to the old road below them. They had eroded a trough in the steep bank, setting off slides of mud, rock, soil and branches that now spattered out in a fan across the old road below. Tinder was the last to go. By the time he reached the road surface, Nortel¡¯s lavender dragon was dirty brown from his shoulders down.


    Only the two smaller dragons, Relpda and Spit, remained. ¡®Nasty cold wet mud,¡¯ Relpda complained.


    ¡®I tried to get you to go first, before the others loosened the slope,¡¯ Sedric reminded her.


    ¡®Did not like. Do not like. It¡¯s too steep.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯ll slide down and then you¡¯ll be at the bottom,¡¯ Sedric tried to reassure her.


    ¡®You¡¯ll roll like a rock and be lucky not to break both your wings,¡¯ Spit suggested spitefully. His silvery-grey eyes were tinged with red as they spun slowly. He seemed to relish the distress he was triggering in Relpda. Sedric wanted to hit him with something large. He smothered the thought before Relpda or Spit could react to it and tried to suffuse his thoughts and voice with calmness.


    ¡®Relpda, listen to me. I would not ask you to do anything that I thought would hurt you. We have to get down from here, and there¡¯s only one way. We need to slide down the hill, and then we can join the other dragons on the bridge.¡¯


    ¡®And once you¡¯re there, he wants you to jump off the bridge and into the water and drown.¡¯ Spit sounded absolutely enthused with the idea.


    ¡®Dragon,¡¯ Carson warned him sternly, but the little silver was unrepentant. ¡®My keeper wants me to drown, too,¡¯ he confided to Relpda. ¡®Then he won¡¯t have to hunt as often to feed me. He¡¯ll have more time to jostle around in his bedding with your keeper.¡¯


    Carson didn¡¯t respond with words. He simply lunged forward suddenly, his shoulder striking his dragon¡¯s haunch with the full force of his weight behind it. Spit had been loitering too near the edge, peering with disapproval at the long, steep drop. The small silver dragon scrabbled wildly to regain his clutch on the hillside, but succeeded only in loosening more earth. He lashed his tail, knocking Carson¡¯s feet from under him, and then they were suddenly both sliding down the hill, fishtailing in the muddy chute, with Carson lunging and getting a grip of the top of Spit¡¯s wing. The dragon trumpeted wildly as they went, but it was only when Carson added a whoop of his own that Sedric realized neither of them was truly upset at the abrupt descent.


    ¡®They like it? The being dirty and going fast down the hill?¡¯ Copper Relpda echoed his confusion.


    ¡®Apparently,¡¯ Sedric replied dubiously. Carson and Spit reached the bottom and rode a spray of loosened earth out into the road. Getting to his feet, Carson brushed uselessly at his clothing and called back up the hill, ¡®Not so bad, really. Come on down.¡¯


    ¡®I suppose there¡¯s no help for it,¡¯ Sedric replied. He scanned the hillside below him, trying to see if there were not an easier, safer, cleaner way to descend. The other dragons and their keepers were already making their way out onto the broken bridge. Carson waited for them, looking up at them. Spit had opened his wings and was shaking them out, heedless of how he spattered his keeper with mud.

 Page 30

    ¡®Don¡¯t take all day!¡¯ Carson called up good-naturedly.


    ¡®She is always the slowest,¡¯ Spit complained.


    ¡®I¡¯m coming!¡¯ Sedric shouted reluctantly. He turned sideways to the slope, resolving to walk at a slant across the steep face.


    ¡®No dirt!¡¯ Relpda replied stubbornly.


    ¡®My copper beauty, I don¡¯t like it any better than you do. But we must get down.¡¯ He didn¡¯t even want to think of the upcoming challenge he¡¯d face when he tried to persuade her to leap from the bridge in flight. He thought she could do it. All of the dragons had practised so earnestly of late, and most had shown some skill at gliding at least. He was almost certain that she could take flight and safely reach Kelsingra. Almost. He pushed his worry aside. Carson had been warning him about that. He could not doubt Relpda without making her doubt herself.


    Moving to one side of the mud chute the larger dragons had created, he began a cautious descent, cutting across the steep face of the hill at a slant. He had gone perhaps five steps when his braced lower foot abruptly slid out from under him. He slammed hip-first to the ground, rolled onto his belly and made a frantic grab for some nearby coarse grasses, only for them to tear free from the earth in his grasp. He was sliding. The suppressed guffaw from Carson and the wild trumpeting of amusement from Spit did not ameliorate his predicament. Twice, his body almost stopped, but as soon as he tried to come to his feet, he slid again. By the time he reached the bottom of the slope and managed to sit up, Carson was at his side, offering him a hand up.


    ¡®That wasn¡¯t funny,¡¯ Sedric began indignantly, but the merriment dancing in Carson¡¯s eyes above his tightly pinched mouth could not be denied. Sedric came to his feet grinning, and spent a few moments brushing gravel, burrs and mud from his Elderling tunic and trousers. When he had finished, his hands were dirty, but the garments gleamed deep blue and silver just as much as they had before. He looked up at Carson. The hunter¡¯s stained leathers were still streaked with mud.


    ¡®I told you that you should try these garments. Rapskal brought back plenty of them.¡¯


    Carson shrugged sheepishly. ¡®Old habits die hard.¡¯ Then, at the disappointment in Sedric¡¯s eyes, he added, ¡®Perhaps after we all transfer to the city. I feel a bit awkward, calling attention to myself in bright colours.¡¯


    ¡®You don¡¯t like them on me?¡¯


    Carson smiled wickedly. ¡®I like them better off you. But yes, I like them on you. But it¡¯s different. You¡¯re beautiful. You should wear beautiful things.¡¯


    Sedric shook his head to the compliment even as it warmed him. Carson was Carson, and in the greater scheme of things, Sedric had no desire to change him. If pressed, he would have to admit now that there was a special rough attraction to Carson in his coarse clothing. There was something comfortingly competent in the way he wore the product of his hunts.


    ¡®I like them, too,¡¯ Spit observed abruptly. ¡®They make him smell like killing and meat. A good way to smell.¡¯


    Sedric turned away from the knowledge that the silver dragon sometimes seemed a bit too aware of his innermost thoughts. He looked up the steep hill at Relpda, who had ventured to the edge and was looking down at them, shifting her front feet nervously as she did so. Save for Carson and Spit, the others had gone on without them. ¡®Make haste, my copper queen, or we shall be left behind!¡¯


    ¡®And you will be the last to leap, as you¡¯ve been last at everything else!¡¯ Spit mocked her unfairly. ¡®Come, copper cow, find one straw of courage and tumble down the hill to join us.¡¯


    ¡®Make him stop mocking her,¡¯ Sedric complained angrily to Carson. ¡®He¡¯ll make her angry and then I can¡¯t persuade her to do anything.¡¯ Even at this distance, Sedric could see red anger sparking in Relpda¡¯s whirling eyes. She lifted her head, her neck arching and the frills along it standing erect with fury. Her colours grew brighter; her whole body gleamed with her anger like a copper kettle on an overheated stove.


    ¡®The last?¡¯ she cried out. ¡®You shall be last, and mateless forever, you shiny toad!¡¯ She transferred her angry gaze to Sedric. ¡®No mud!¡¯ she proclaimed, and abruptly whirled away from the edge and vanished from his sight.


    ¡®Now see what you¡¯ve done!¡¯ he rebuked the unrepentant silver. ¡®She¡¯ll go all the way back to the village and it will take me another whole day to bring her ¡­¡¯


    He never completed his sentence. He heard her thunderous tread and looked up to see her race up to the edge and leap into the air.

 Page 31

    ¡®Run!¡¯ Carson bellowed; but Sedric couldn¡¯t. He stared upward, fearful for her and for himself.


    Relpda snapped her wings open and he cowered, hands over his head, as the little copper dragon fell toward them. Her wings spread wide and as he peered up at her in sheer terror, he saw her beat them frantically. He closed his eyes.


    A moment later, uncrushed, he opened them again. Carson was looking up, his mouth opened in astonishment. Spit¡¯s triumphant shout penetrated his brain. ¡®She flies! The copper queen flies!¡¯


    Sedric strained to see what Carson watched. Then the big man put his arm around him and pointed out at the river. It took Sedric a moment to make sense of what he was seeing. His dragon. The day was overcast but still she glittered, copper against the dull pewter of the river¡¯s surface. Her wings were stretched wide and she was in a glide. She was losing altitude and Sedric could predict exactly where she would contact the river¡¯s surface, well short of the middle. ¡®Fly!¡¯ he shouted, his voice a hoarse roar. ¡®Beat your wings, Relpda! Fly!¡¯


    Carson¡¯s grip tightened on his shoulders. The hunter was silent but Sedric knew he shared his agony. Down by the bridge, he could hear the voices of the other keepers raised in anxious questions. Dortean trumpeted wildly and Veras echoed him more shrilly.


    ¡®FLY!¡¯ It was a roar of command, full of fury, and it came from silver Spit. The silver dragon capered up onto his hind legs, opening his own wings and beating them in futile frustration. ¡®Fly!¡¯


    Sedric could not watch and yet he could not tear his eyes from her. He could feel Relpda¡¯s terror and her excitement at how the wind swept past her. He knew how she struggled to pull her body into alignment. Then, beat and beat and beat, she began to work her wings. Her leap from the embankment had thrown her into a long swoop, and she had had to do little more than outstretch her wings to ride the air. But now ancient memories were stirring. She had been a queen and once she had ruled these skies.


    ¡®Don¡¯t think! Just fly!¡¯ Spit roared at her. And then he took off in a lumbering run.


    ¡®Spit!¡¯ Carson shouted and set off in pursuit. Sedric could not stand still. He raced after them, feeling the wind on his own face and the rush of air past Relpda¡¯s outstretched neck and how the air over the moving water buffeted her. He forced himself to halt. He closed his eyes tightly.


    ¡®With you, Relpda. Fly, my beauty. Nothing else. Only flying.¡¯


    Ever since he had drunk her blood, he had shared her awareness. Sometimes it had been merely distracting, and at other times it had been overwhelming. He had not stopped to think that being linked to him might be not just a distraction but a source of doubt for her. No doubts now. Nothing but a copper queen and the free air and Kelsingra in the distance, calling to her. He poured himself into her, willing strength to her wings and confidence to her heart.


    ¡®Spit, NO!¡¯ Somewhere in the distance, he heard Carson¡¯s voice. With steel resolve, he kept his focus as it was. Wings beating steadily now. The sound of the water rushing by below him was only a sound; it could not pull him down and under. Ahead, the gleaming stone walls of Kelsingra beckoned him. There would be warmth there, he promised her, warmth and shelter from the endless rain and wind. There would be hot water to rest in, to ease away the endless ache of cold.


    I come, copper queen. We rise in flight together.


    The thought pushed into the mind they shared. It was Spit. He had leapt from the bridge, pushing past the larger dragons to be the first to make the jump. I have caught the wind itself beneath me and I come to you. We rise together!


    The beating of Relpda¡¯s glittering wings suddenly surged to a new level. The rhythm was slower, the downward push more powerful. She rose, the river receding beneath her, and for a long giddying moment, Sedric shared her view of the countryside that spread out below her. He had never imagined that any creature could see such a distance in such detail. A human standing upon a mountain might see such a panorama, but could never detect the elk drowsing on the hillside, or the movement in the deep grass of a meadow that was not wind but the passage of a herd of small, goatlike creatures. Abruptly he could smell them, the musky male that led them and five, no, six females that followed him. Detailed information poured into his mind in a way he had never experienced. When he abruptly broke free of his contact with Relpda he was not sure if she had pushed him away or if he had fled.


    He stood, blinking at the day around him, feeling as if he had just awakened from an extraordinary dream. His vision seemed hazed, and he closed his eyes and then rubbed them before he could accept that his problem was merely a return to ordinary human sight. He gave his head a shake and looked around. The other dragons and keepers were all gathered at the end of the road on the bridge approach. Carson was running back toward him, a strange look between joy and terror on his face. Motion on the bridge caught his eye and he saw orange Dortean suddenly gallop up the bridge approach, pause for a heartbeat and then leap off. As he did so, he snapped his wings wide open, revealing markings like large bright-blue blossoms on them. He pulled his body into perfect alignment, making himself an arrow. As Sedric watched, he did not drop at all, but rose on powerful strokes of his wings. On the bridge approach behind him, Kase capered and danced in wild joy at his dragon¡¯s triumphant launch. His cousin Boxter raced out to join him, pounding him on the back and laughing wildly as Kase pointed up at his dragon. Then they abruptly halted their celebration and fled to one side to be clear of Skrim as the long, skinny dragon made his own dash for the end of the bridge. He did not hesitate, but flung himself out, a second orange arrow in flight. His long narrow body undulated like a snake as he fought his way higher and higher into the sky.

 Page 32

    ¡®Sedric!¡¯ Carson¡¯s shout distracted him from Skrim¡¯s successful launch. ¡®Sedric, did you see him? Do you see them now?¡¯


    His partner was suddenly in front of him, seizing him and lifting him off his feet, to whirl him joyously about. ¡®Did you see our dragons?¡¯ he demanded by Sedric¡¯s ear.


    ¡®NO! Put me down, what are you talking about?¡¯ Sedric asked. But when Carson dropped him back onto his feet, he had to hold onto his arm to keep vertigo from felling him. ¡®What? Where?¡¯


    ¡®There!¡¯ Carson declared proudly, and pointed to the distant sky over Kelsingra.


    Sedric¡¯s highest hope had been that Relpda would manage to land safely on the far shore. He had never imagined her spiralling up above the city. She tilted and tipped into each wild turn, and if she was not as graceful as a skylark she was still as joyous in her flight. Below her, beating his silver wings hard in a frantic bid to match her ascent, was Spit. He flew more heavily than she did and his effort was obvious, but so was his achievement. As the two men watched, Spit gained on her and then surpassed her. Abruptly, he dived down on her, and Sedric gave a useless cry of warning to his distant queen. But Relpda had seen Spit coming. At the last moment, she tucked her wings tight to her body and plummeted toward the ground, only to smoothly level out to a glide. She opened her wings and gained speed, shooting toward the distant foothills. But Spit had copied her and was not far behind her. He trumpeted wildly as he pursued her. As Relpda dipped from sight behind a far ridge, Sedric cried out, ¡®Why does he harry her so? Carson, call him back! Do something. I fear he means her harm!¡¯


    Carson tightened his arm around Sedric¡¯s shoulders and then seized his chin to turn Sedric¡¯s worried gaze from the sky to meet his own. He smiled down at him. ¡®City boy,¡¯ he mocked gently. ¡®Spit means Relpda exactly as much harm as I mean to you.¡¯ Then he turned his head and lowered his face to kiss Sedric hard.


    Hest was surprised. The tea was hot and excellent, spicy and warming. The shopkeeper had given him a little table near a fat blue pottery stove. He had served Hest pastries with the tea, some filled with peppered monkey sausage and others with a soft pink fruit that was both tart and sweet. Hest did not hurry his repast. He wished to give Redding plenty of time to complete his encounter with the Chalcedeans, and lots of time afterwards to contemplate his foolishness in pushing him. He suspected that by the time he returned to the dismal little room, he would have achieved two goals. The nasty messages would have been passed without Hest dirtying his hands with them, and Redding would be very submissive to his will once more.


    Hest had extended himself to be charming and witty to the shopkeeper. As it always did, it had worked well. The tea man had proven affable, but busy. He¡¯d passed a few pleasantries with Hest, but Hest¡¯s gambit that ¡®I¡¯ve just arrived on one of the impervious boats; I think they will transform travel on the river,¡¯ had led to nothing. But a young woman with a tattoo of four stars on her cheek had been attracted to him, and she had proven very chatty. It had not been too difficult to steer the conversation. He¡¯d taken it from impervious boats to liveships to the Tarman and the Tarman Expedition. There¡¯d been no lack of gossip. She knew all about Captain Leftrin¡¯s visit to Cassarick and his abrupt departure and even that he seemed to have formed a partnership with one of the daughters of Trader Khuprus. The daughter had not been seen since the Tarman left the docks and some speculated she had fallen in love with the captain and run off with him. There was gossip, too, about Reyn Khuprus and his pregnant wife Malta. Rumours said that they had come to the Rain Wild Traders¡¯ meeting about the time that Leftrin appeared, and then he had given Malta Khuprus some sort of secret message and possibly an extremely valuable treasure from the Elderling city of Kelsingra. Neither of the so-called Elderlings had been seen in Cassarick since then. By the curl of her lip, he deduced her prejudice against Reyn and Malta, and once he implied that he shared her disdain they got along famously and she was very forthcoming with all she knew. The Khuprus family matriarch had been reticent about their whereabouts or if the pregnancy had culminated in a viable child. The lack of information had become very noticeable, as had the haggard and anxious appearance of Jani Khuprus. The girl suspected the birth of a monster, kept hidden from all lest it be destroyed.


    It had taken some little time for him to steer her away from the internal politics of the Rain Wilds and back to what interested him. He wanted gossip about Kelsingra and specifically his wife but could not ask for it directly. At last he manoeuvred her back to the first time Leftrin had spoken to the Council about the Expedition. She had not been there, but she went on at length about how ¡®that Elderling Malta¡¯ had pushed her way into Council business, all on the claim of representing her missing brother Selden, who in turn was supposed to speak for the dragons, as if the dragons had any right to representation before the Council! She suspected Selden¡¯s claim to know the dragons¡¯ will had simply been another Khuprus Elderling ploy to seize more power. All knew they dreamed of being King and Queen and lording it over everyone else in the Rain Wilds. Her diatribe had become dreary to him long before she tired of it. Still, she did not leave until she had eaten the last of the cakes. It had cost him an afternoon and several coins to discover that no one seemed to know just what the Tarman had discovered up the river.

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    He glanced out of the small window. Dark. But as it had seemed dark to him since he had arrived, he concluded that it was a poor way to estimate the time. The dense canopy of the rainforest stole what little sun the late winter had offered. It was better to go by his personal inclination, and he believed it was now an appropriate time for him to return. He stacked silver coins in a short pile by his cup and then rose to leave. Outside the snug little tea room, the wind had come up substantially. Old leaves, brown needles and bits of moss rained down through the branches. It took him a few moments to get his bearings and make his way to a smaller tree, up two stairways and then out on a limb to the tatty swinging structure that held his room. As he reached it, the rain that had been battering the upper reaches of the canopy worked its way down to his level. It fell in very large collective drops, laden with the twigs and earth it had picked up along the way. He was glad he would not be spending the night here: he suspected the swinging of the chamber would be just as bad as being on a ship at sea.


    He tried the door, but found it blocked from the inside. ¡®Redding?¡¯ he called out in annoyance, but got no response. How dared he! So Hest had played a bit of a prank on him, giving him the grisly rebukes to deliver. That didn¡¯t merit him barricading Hest out in the wind and rain. ¡®Damn it, Redding, open the door!¡¯ he insisted. He hammered on it, but got no response. The rain began to fall in earnest. Hest put his shoulder to the door and succeeded in pushing it a hand¡¯s breadth open.


    He peered into the dim room. ¡®Redding!¡¯ His cry was cut short by a tanned and muscular hand that shot out to seize him by the throat.


    ¡®Quiet,¡¯ commanded a low voice that he knew too well.


    The door was dragged partially open and he was pulled into the darkened room. He stumbled over something soft and heavy, and fell to his knees. The hand released its grip on his throat as he fell; he coughed several times before he could drag in a full breath. By then, the door had been pushed shut. The only light in the room came from the coals in the small hearth. He could just make out that the object blocking the door was a man¡¯s body. The Chalcedean stood between him and escape. The body on the floor was still. The room stank.


    ¡®Redding!¡¯ He reached out to the body, and touched a coarse cotton shirt.


    ¡®No!¡¯ The disdain in the Chalcedean¡¯s voice was absolute. ¡®No, that is Arich. He came alone. Your man did not do too badly with him, at first. He delivered the parcel, and Arich understood its significance before he died. That was necessary, of course. For him to have died with hope would have been intolerable after his terrible failure. Of course he had questions that your man could not answer, so I had to intrude on their meeting. He was so surprised to see me, almost as surprised as your man. Before I dispatched Arich, he said several things that make me believe that Begasti Cored is no more. A shame. He was cleverer than Arich and perhaps would have held more information. Not to mention that the Duke had so cherished the idea that Begasti would recognize the hand of his only son.¡¯


    ¡®What are you doing here? And where is Redding?¡¯ Hest had recovered himself slightly. He staggered to his feet and moved back toward the wicker wall of the chamber. The flimsy room swayed sickeningly under his tread, or perhaps that was vertigo brought on by the horror of the situation. A dead man on the floor of a room he had paid for; would he be blamed?


    ¡®I am doing here my mission for the Duke. I am getting him dragon parts. Remember? That was the whole reason I sent you here. As for ¡°Redding¡± ¡­ your man¡¯s name, I take it? He is there, on the bed where he fell.¡¯


    In the gloom, Hest had not noticed the mound on the low bed. Now he looked and his eyes showed him details ¨C a pale hand dangling to the floor, the lacy cuff dark with blood. ¡®Is he hurt? Will he be all right?¡¯


    ¡®No. He is all dead.¡¯ There was absolutely no regret in the man¡¯s voice.


    Hest gasped unevenly and stepped back until his hands met the woven wall. His knees shook and there was a roaring in his ears. Redding was dead. Redding, a man he had known his whole life, his on-and-off partner for bed-play since they had discovered their mutual interest; Redding, who had breakfasted with him this morning. Redding had died here in sudden violence. It was incomprehensible. He stared and his eyes gathered the moment and burned it into his mind. Redding sprawled belly-down on the pallet, his face turned toward him. The uneven light from the hearth danced over the outline of his open mouth and staring eyes. He looked mildly startled, not dead. Hest waited for him to laugh suddenly and sit up. Then the long moment for it to be some bizarre prank concocted between the Chalcedean and his friend passed. Dead. Redding was dead, right there, on a grubby pallet in a tiny Rain Wilds hut.

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    Suddenly it seemed extremely possible that the same fate could befall him. He found his voice. His words came out hoarsely. ¡®Why did you do this? I was obeying you. I did all you asked me.¡¯


    ¡®Almost. But not quite. I told you that you were to come alone. You disobeyed. See what you caused?¡¯ The Chalcedean¡¯s tone was the mild rebuke of a schoolmaster with a pupil who had failed a lesson. ¡®But not all was lost. You and your merchant friend lured them out for me.¡¯


    ¡®So, you are finished with me? I can go?¡¯ Hope surged in him. Get away from this. Flee. Get back to Bingtown as swiftly as possible. Redding was dead. Dead!


    ¡®Of course not. Hest Finbok, fix this in your mind. It is a simple idea. Your man Sedric said he would get us dragon parts. We have not yet received what was promised. Your part is over when you fulfil his agreement, which in reality is your agreement, as he was your servant and speaking on your behalf.¡¯ The assassin lifted his hands and let them fall. ¡®What is so difficult for you to understand about this?¡¯


    ¡®But I did all you asked. I can¡¯t make dragon parts just appear! If I don¡¯t have them, I don¡¯t have them! What do you want? What else can I give you? Money?¡¯


    The Chalcedean advanced on him. The scar on his face was not as livid as it had been but he seemed more haggard, both hair and beard gone ragged. ¡®What do I want?¡¯ He put his face close to Hest¡¯s and his hazel eyes lit with fury. ¡®What I do not want is my son¡¯s hand delivered to me in a jewelled box. I want to take back to my Duke the flesh and blood and organs of a dragon so that he will return to me my flesh and blood that he holds hostage. I want him to reward me richly and then forget that he ever saw me or my family. So that I and my family can live in safety to the end of my days. Money will not buy that, Bingtowner. Only dragon¡¯s flesh.¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know how to get that. Don¡¯t you think that if I could give you that, I would have done so by now?¡¯ Hest¡¯s voice shook. His entire body was shaking. Not fear, but something deeper than fear rattled him. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.


    ¡®Be quiet. You are useless but you are the only tool I have. I have done here what could be done with these wretched fools. Sinad Arich and Begasti Cored had failed; I was almost sure of that when I was sent to see what delayed them. So, I have removed them from my path. I have also removed your Redding; you chose poorly when you selected him as your hands. He vomited when Arich opened his gift. When I entered the room, he very nearly fainted. Then he screamed like a woman when I killed Arich. This is the sort of man you choose as a companion?¡¯


    ¡®I knew him all our lives,¡¯ Hest heard himself say. He spoke numbly, scarcely able to comprehend that Redding was no more. Redding clambering up on a table to offer a toast. Redding trying on cloaks at their favourite tailor¡¯s shop. Redding, one eyebrow lifted as he leaned close to share an absolutely scandalous bit of gossip. Redding on his knees, lips wet, teasing Hest. Redding on his belly, eyes going dull. All their lives, and now Redding¡¯s life was ended. No more Redding. ¡®I have no idea how to get dragon parts for you,¡¯ he said flatly.


    ¡®I¡¯m not surprised,¡¯ the Chalcedean replied. ¡®But you¡¯ll find out.¡¯


    ¡®How? What are you talking about? What can I possibly do?¡¯


    The Chalcedean shook his head wearily. ¡®Did you think I didn¡¯t ask questions about you? Do you think I don¡¯t know all about your wife? And your connections here as the future Trader for your family? I brought you here to use you, to find out all that can be discovered of the dragons and your dear little woman. When we know, we will follow them¡ª¡¯


    ¡®No boat will carry us up the river!¡¯ Hest dared to interrupt.


    The Chalcedean barked out a laugh. ¡®Actually, it was all arranged before we departed from Bingtown. Did you think it all a coincidence that one of the new ¡°impervious¡± boats should happen to be departing at such an auspicious time for you? That it had but one cabin left for a passenger? Fool.¡¯


    ¡®Then ¡­ you were on the same ship as we were?¡¯


    ¡®Of course. But enough of the obvious. We have still a task here tonight, and that is to make things less obvious before we sleep.¡¯


    ¡®Less obvious?¡¯


    ¡®You have bodies to dispose of. First, you must strip them of all clothing, the better to destroy their identities.¡¯ The Chalcedean paused thoughtfully. ¡®And it would be better if their faces were not easily recognized by anyone.¡¯ He drew out one of his nasty little knives as he crouched by Arich¡¯s body. ¡®You can be stripping him while I take care of this one¡¯s face.¡¯ He did not turn as he added, ¡®And we must be quick. This is but the first of our tasks tonight. Hest Finbok has some letters to write, notes offering a very profitable association with his family, but one of the most confidential nature. That, I think, will draw our hidden friends out of their lairs and to the edge of the precipice. Just where we want them.¡¯

 Page 35

    Day the 26th of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Ronica Vestrit of the Vestrit Traders, Bingtown


    To Whatever Incompetent Bird Keeper is accepting messages in Cassarick


    The patron requests this be posted in the Bird Keepers¡¯ Guild Hall


    Once might be an accident. Twice might be coincidence. Four times is deliberate spying. You have been tampering with all messages sent to me from Cassarick. Messages sent to me from Malta Vestrit Khuprus have been received with seals damaged or missing, as well as a very recent message sent from Jani Khuprus. It is obvious to us that you are targeting messages moving between the Khuprus and Vestrit Trader families.


    It is also obvious that you think us both stupid and ignorant of how the Guild employs birds and bird keepers. You will note that this message reaches you attached to the leg of one of the birds from your cote, birds you are personally responsible for. Although the Guild has refused to name you by name, I know that they now know who is responsible for at least some of the tampering. I have filed a complaint against you specifically, citing the leg-band marks of the birds that have arrived bearing damaged messages for me.


    Your days as a bird keeper are numbered. You are a disgrace to the Rain Wild Traders and to the family that bore you. Shame upon you for betraying your oaths of confidentiality and loyalty. Trade cannot prosper where there is spying and deception. People like you do damage to us all.


    CHAPTER SIX


    Dragon Blood


    ¡®He looks sick,¡¯ the Duke objected.


    Chancellor Ellik lowered his eyes silently, humiliated that his duke would publicly disparage the gift he had brought, but he would bow his head and accept it. He had no choice in that, and it pleased the Duke to keep him aware of that.


    The private audience room was warm, possibly stifling to some of those in attendance. The Duke had lost so much flesh that he felt cold all the time, even on a fine spring day. Fires crackled in both the large hearths, the stone floors were thickly carpeted and the walls draped with tapestries. Soft, warm robes swaddled the Duke¡¯s thin body. Still, he felt chilled, though sweat stood on the faces of the six guardsmen who attended him. The only others in the room were his Chancellor and the creature he had dragged in with him.


    The chained dragon-man, the Elderling that stood before him, did not sweat. He was thin, with sunken eyes and lank hair. Ellik had allowed him only a loincloth, doubtless the better to show off his scaled flesh. A pity it also showed his ribs and how the knobs of his elbows and knees stood out. A bandage was bound to one of his shoulders. Not at all the glorious being that the Duke had anticipated.


    ¡®I am sick.¡¯


    The creature¡¯s voice startled him. It was not just that he could speak; his voice was stronger than the Duke would have expected it to be, given his condition. Moreover, he spoke in Chalcedean. It was accented but clear enough.


    The Elderling coughed as if to illustrate that he spoke the truth, the light sort of throat-clearing one did when afraid that coughing hard enough to clear the mucus would hurt more than it was worth. The Duke was familiar with that sort of cough. The creature drew the back of one slender blue-scaled hand across his mouth, sighed and then lifted his eyes to meet the Duke¡¯s stare. When he let his hands drop back to his sides, the chains on his wrists rattled. His eyes were human, in this light, but when he had first been brought into the chamber his gaze had seemed lambent like a cat¡¯s, gleaming blue in the candlelight.


    ¡®Silence!¡¯ Ellik spat the word at his creature. ¡®Silence and on your knees before the Duke.¡¯ He expressed his frustration with a sharp jerk on the dragon-man¡¯s chain and the creature stumbled forward, falling to his knees and barely catching himself on his hands.


    The dragon-man cried out as he slapped the floor and then, with difficulty, straightened so that he was kneeling. He glared hatred at Ellik.


    As the Chancellor drew his fist back, the Duke intervened. ¡®So. It can talk, can it? Let it speak, Chancellor. It amuses me.¡¯ The Duke could see that this did not please Ellik. All the more reason to hear what the dragon-man would say.


    The scaled man cleared his throat but still spoke hoarsely. His courtesy was that of a man on the crumbling edge of sanity. The Duke was familiar with that sort of final clutching at normality. Why did desperate men believe that logic and formality could restore them to a life that had vanished?


    ¡®My name is Selden Vestrit of the Bingtown Traders, fostered by the Khuprus family of the Rain Wild Traders, and Singer to the Dragon Tintaglia. But perhaps you know that?¡¯ The man looked up into the Duke¡¯s face hopefully. When he saw no recognition there, he resumed speaking. ¡®Tintaglia chose me to serve her, and I was glad to do so. She gave me a task. The dragon bid me go forth, to see if I could find others of her kind or hear any tales of them. And I went. I journeyed far with a group of Traders. I went for love of the dragon, but they went in the hope of gaining her favour and somehow turning that favour to wealth. But no matter where we went, our search was fruitless. The others wanted to turn back, but I knew I had to go on.¡¯

 Page 36

    Once more, his eyes searched the Duke¡¯s impassive face for some sort of sympathy or interest. The Duke allowed his face to betray no interest in the tale. The dragon-singer¡¯s voice was more subdued when he went on. ¡®Eventually, my own people betrayed me. The Traders I travelled with dismissed our quest. I think they felt I had betrayed them, had led them on a foolish venture that had used up their money and gained them nothing. They stole everything I had and at the next port, they sold me as a slave. My new ¡°owners¡± took me far to the south and displayed me at markets and crossroads fairs. But then, when my novelty waned, and I began to get sick, they sold me again. I was shipped north, but pirates took our vessel and I changed hands. I was bought as a freak to be displayed to the curious. Somehow, your Chancellor learned of my existence and brought me here. And now, I have come to you.¡¯


    The Duke had known nothing of that. He wondered if Ellik had, but he did not look at his Chancellor. The dragon-man held his attention. He spoke persuasively, this ¡®dragon-singer¡¯. His voice was rough, the music gone from it, but the cadence and tone of his words would have been convincing to a less susceptible man. The Duke made no response to him. Desperation broke into his voice on his next words and the Duke wondered if he were younger than he appeared.


    ¡®Those who claimed to own me and sold me were liars! I am not a slave. I have never committed any crime to be punished with slavery, nor ever been a citizen of any place where such a punishment is accepted. If you will not free me on my own word that my imprisonment is unjust, then let me send word to my people. They will buy my freedom back from you.¡¯ He coughed again, harder this time, and pain spasmed across his face with each rough exhalation. He barely managed to remain kneeling upright, and when he wiped his mouth, his lips remained wet with mucus. It was a disgusting display.


    The Duke regarded him coldly. ¡®Now I know your name, but who you are does not matter to me. It is what you are that brings you here. You are part dragon and that is all I care about.¡¯ He considered his options. ¡®How long have you been ill?¡¯


    ¡®No. You are wrong. I am not part dragon. I am a man, changed by a dragon. My mother is from Bingtown, but my father was a Chalcedean, Kyle Haven. He was a sea captain. A man just like you.¡¯


    The creature dared to knot his fists as he advanced on his knees. Ellik jerked on the leash he held and the Elderling gave a wordless cry of pain. Ellik spurned him casually with a booted foot, pushing him over on his side. The creature glared up at him. The Chancellor set his boot on the chained Elderling¡¯s throat and for a moment the Duke recognized the warrior Ellik had once been.


    ¡®You had best find some courtesy, Elderling, or I will teach you some myself.¡¯ Ellik spoke severely, but the Duke wondered if it was truly out of respect for him, or if he wanted to silence the creature before his ¡®gift¡¯ could deny his bloodlines again. It didn¡¯t matter. The fine scaling, the blue colouration, even the gleaming eyes proved he was not human. A clever lie, to pretend his father was Chalcedean. Clever as a dragon, as the saying went.


    ¡®How long have you been ill?¡¯ the Duke demanded again.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know.¡¯ The Elderling had lost his defiance. He did not look up at the Duke as he spoke. ¡®It is hard to tell the passage of time from inside a dark ship¡¯s belly. But I was already ill when they sold me, and sick when the pirates took the ship I was on. For a time, they feared to touch me, and not just because of my appearance.¡¯ He coughed again, curling inward where he lay.


    ¡®He is down to bone,¡¯ the Duke observed.


    ¡®Such, I believe, is their natural shape,¡¯ Ellik suggested cautiously. ¡®To be long and thin like that. There are some few images of them in old scrolls that depict them that way. Tall and scaled.¡¯


    ¡®Has he fever?¡¯


    ¡®He is warmer perhaps than a man, but again, such may be the way of his kind.¡¯


    ¡®I am sick!¡¯ the creature declared again, with more force. ¡®I¡¯ve lost flesh, I cannot take a deep breath, and yes, I burn with fever. Why do you care to ask me such questions? Will you or will you not let me send word to those who would ransom me? Ask what you wish for me; I wager it will be paid.¡¯


    ¡®I do not eat the flesh of sick animals,¡¯ the Duke said coldly. He fixed his gaze on Ellik. ¡®Nor do I appreciate having one brought into my presence, to give off contagious vapours. Perhaps you meant well, Chancellor, but this does not fulfil your portion of our agreement.¡¯


    ¡®Your Excellency,¡¯ Ellik acceded. He had to agree, but there was the slightest bit of stiffness in his voice. ¡®I apologize for inflicting his presence on you. I will remove him immediately from your sight.¡¯

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    ¡®No.¡¯ The Duke gathered his wits carefully. The tiny sample of flesh that Ellik had given him weeks ago had been invigorating. For almost two days after he had consumed it, he had digested his other food well, and been able even to stand and walk a few steps unaided. Then the sense of well-being had passed and his weakness had returned. So the flesh of a dragon-man had not cured him, but it had given him strength for a few days. He narrowed his eyes, appraising. The creature was valuable, and to disappoint Ellik too much at this juncture would be a serious mistake. He needed to accept the Elderling as a gift, to let Ellik feel he remained high in his favour. He knew that Ellik¡¯s strength was what currently supported his throne. But he must not give too much power over to the Chancellor. He could not yet surrender his daughter to him in marriage. For once Ellik had got a belly on the daughter, what need would he have of the father?


    The Duke pondered his options, taking his time, not caring how his guardsmen shifted in the heat or how Ellik¡¯s face darkened with shame and perhaps anger. He considered the Elderling. One could become ill from eating a sick animal. But a sick animal could be cured and become useful again. The Elderling¡¯s vitality seemed strong even if he was ailing. Perhaps he could be cured.


    He considered putting the creature in Chassim¡¯s care. Among his women, her skills as a healer had been well known, and it would certainly keep Ellik off-balance. At present, his daughter was securely confined and isolated. Daily she sent messages to him, demanding to know what she had done, to be treated so. He had not replied to any of them. The less she knew, the fewer weapons she had to turn against him. The Elderling would have to be confined in similar circumstances to keep him safe and reserve him for his sole use. And he certainly would not entrust his care to his bumbling healers. They had not been successful in healing him; why give them the chance to sicken this creature further? Pure jealousy that the Chancellor had procured for him what they had not might lead them to poison the dragon-man.


    He nodded to himself as he fitted the pieces together. The plan pleased him. The Elderling would be put into Chassim¡¯s care. He would let her know that if she cured him, she might win her freedom. And if he died ¡­ he would leave her to imagine the consequences of such a failure. For now, he would not ingest any of the creature¡¯s blood until he was sure it was healthy. And if the Elderling could not be made healthy enough to consume, there was still the possibility that it could be traded for what he did desire. The dragon-man had implied that he was valuable to his own kind. The Duke leaned back on this throne, found it no more comfortable for his jutting bones, and curled forward again. And all the while the fallen creature stared up at him defiantly and Ellik seethed.


    Enough of this. Be decisive. Or at least appear that way. ¡®Summon my gaoler,¡¯ he said, but even as his guards flinched at his command, he lifted a finger and gestured that Ellik was to be the one to obey his wish. ¡®When he arrives, I will speak to him and tell him that this Elderling is to be confined with my other special prisoner, and treated just as gently. I think that in time, he will recover his health and we will have a good use for him. You, good Chancellor, will be allowed to accompany him, and be sure he is put where he will be warm and comfortable and that good food reaches him.¡¯ He waited a moment, giving Ellik time to fear that the Duke was simply going to make off with his exotic gift and return him no recompense. When he saw the sparks of anger begin to kindle, he spoke again.


    ¡®And I will convey to my gaoler that you are to have the privilege of visiting both my prisoners, when and as you wish. It seems only right to reward you with some privilege. Access to what will eventually be yours, so to speak ¡­ Does that seem fair to you, Chancellor?¡¯


    Ellik met the Duke¡¯s gaze and very slowly, understanding dawned in his eyes. ¡®It is beyond fair, Excellency. I will fetch him immediately.¡¯ He tugged at his prize¡¯s chain, but the Duke shook his head. ¡®Leave the dragon-man here while you fetch the gaoler. I have my guards and I think I have little to fear from such a rack of bones.¡¯


    An expression of uneasiness flickered over the Chancellor¡¯s face, but he bowed deeply and then backed slowly from the room. When he was gone, the Duke sat regarding his prize. The Elderling did not look as if he had been severely abused. Starved a bit, perhaps, and his fading bruises spoke of a beating. But there were no signs of infected injuries. Perhaps he just needed to be fed up. ¡®What do you eat, creature?¡¯ he demanded.


    The Elderling met his gaze. ¡®I am a man, despite my appearance. I eat what you would eat. Bread, meat, fruit, vegetables. Hot tea. Good wine. Clean food of any kind would be welcome to me.¡¯

 Page 38

    The Duke could hear some relief in the creature¡¯s voice. He had understood that he was to be treated well and given time to heal. There was no need to put any other thought in his mind.


    ¡®If you will but give me ink and paper,¡¯ the creature said, ¡®I will compose a letter to my family. They will ransom me.¡¯


    ¡®And your dragon? Did not you say you sang for a dragon? What might he give for your safe return?¡¯


    The Elderling smiled but there was a wry twist to his mouth. ¡®It is hard for me to say. Nothing at all, perhaps. Tintaglia does not act by predictable human standards. At any moment of any hour, her fancy toward me might change. But I think you would win her goodwill if I were returned safely to where she could eventually find me again.¡¯


    ¡®Then you do not know where she is?¡¯ The possibility of holding this Selden hostage and luring his dragon in to where it could be slain and butchered faded a bit. If he was telling the truth at all. Dragons were notorious liars.


    ¡®Held in captivity as I was, I was carried far from where I might expect to see her. Possibly she believes I have abandoned her. In any case, it has been years since I have seen her.¡¯


    Not the most encouraging news. ¡®But you come from the Rain Wilds? And there they have many dragons, do they not?¡¯


    The creature drew breath to speak, seemed to waver in his resolve and then said, ¡®The rumour of the dragons hatching went far and wide when it happened. I have not been home for a long time. I cannot say with certainty how the dragons that hatched there have fared.¡¯


    Did the creature sense that there was a bargain to be struck? Let him think on it, then, but best not to let him know the Duke¡¯s life depended on it. He heard the footfalls of the gaoler and Ellik as they approached the doorway and nodded gravely to the creature.


    ¡®Farewell for now, Elderling. Eat well, rest and grow strong. Later, perhaps, we will speak again.¡¯ He looked away from the creature. ¡®Guards. Bear me to the sheltered garden. And mulled wine is to await me there when I arrive.¡¯


    In late morning, Tintaglia smelled wood-smoke on the wind. The breeze had carried it a long way; nonetheless, it lifted her heart. Trehaug was not far now and the day was still young. The thought that soon she would see her Elderlings again cheered her. Pumping her wings more strongly, she braced herself against the pain. It was endurable now that an end was in sight. She would summon Malta and Reyn and they would attend to her injury. It would not be pleasant, but with their clever little hands, they could search the wound and pull out the offensive arrowhead. Then, a soothing poultice and perhaps some grooming by them. She made a small sound of longing in her throat. Selden had always been the best at grooming her. Her small singer had been devoted to her. She wondered if he were still alive somewhere and how much he would have aged. It was hard to understand how quickly humans aged. A few seasons passed and suddenly they were old. A few more and they were dead. Would Malta and Reyn have aged much?


    Useless to wonder. She would see them soon. If they were too old to help her, she would use her dragon glamour to win others to her service.


    As the afternoon sun began to slant across the river, the smells of humanity grew stronger. There was more smoke on the wind and the other stenches of human habitation. Their sounds reached her sensitive ears as well. Their chittering calls to one another vied with the sound of their endless remaking of the world. Axes bit wood into pieces and hammers nailed it back together. Humans could never accept the world as it was and live in it. They were always breaking it and living amongst the shattered pieces.


    On the river, bobbing boats battled the current. As her shadow swept across them, men looked up, yelling and pointing. She ignored them. Ahead of her were the floating docks that served the treetop city. She swept over them, displeased at how small they seemed. She had landed on them before, when she was not long out of her cocoon. True, planks had split and broken free under her impact, and the boats tethered to them had taken some damage and some had floated away down the river, still attached to a broken piece of dock. But that was scarcely her fault; humans should build more sturdily if they wanted dragons to come calling.


    She grunted in pain as she banked her wings and circled. This was going to hurt no matter whether she landed in the water or on the dock. The dock, then. She opened her wings and beat them, letting her clawed feet reach toward the dock. On the long wooden structure, humans were yelling and running in all directions.


    ¡®OUT OF MY WAY!¡¯ she warned them, trumpeting the thought as well as impressing it on their tiny brains. ¡®Malta! Reyn! Attend me!¡¯ Then her outstretched front legs struck the planking. The floating dock sank under her; tethered boats leaned in wildly and shattered pieces of wood went flying. Grey river water surged up to drench her, and as she roared in outrage at its cold and acid touch, the buoyancy of the dock suddenly asserted itself. The structure rose under her until the water barely covered her feet. She lashed her tail in disgust and felt wood give beneath the impact. She looked over her shoulder at a boat that was now listing and taking on water. ¡®A foolish place to tie that,¡¯ she observed, and moved down the dock that swayed and sank beneath her every tread until she emerged onto the muddy, trodden shore. As she left the dock, most of it bobbed back up to the surface. Only one boat broke free and floated away.

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    On the solid if muddy earth, she halted. For a time, all she did was breathe. Waves of heat swept through her, flushing her hide with the colours of anger and pain. She bowed her head to her agony and kept very still, willing it to pass. When finally it eased and her mind cleared, she lifted her head and looked around.


    The humans who had fled shrieking at her approach were now beginning to gather at a safe distance. They ringed her like carrion birds, chattering like a disturbed flock of rooks. The shrillness was as annoying as her inability to separate any one stream of thought from any of them. Panic, panic, panic! That was all they were conveying to one another.


    ¡®Silence!¡¯ she roared at them, and for a wonder, they stilled. The pain of her injury was beginning to assert itself. She had no time for these chittering monkeys. ¡®Reyn Khuprus! Malta! Selden!¡¯ She threw that last name out hopefully.


    One of the men, a burly fellow in a stained tunic, found the courage to address her. ¡®None of them here! Selden¡¯s been gone a long time, and Reyn and Malta went to Cassarick and haven¡¯t been seen since! Nor Reyn¡¯s sister Tillamon. All vanished!¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ Outrage swept through her. She lashed her tail and then bellowed again at the pain it cost her. ¡®All gone? Not a Khuprus to attend me? What insult is this?¡¯


    ¡®Not every Khuprus is gone.¡¯ The woman who shouted the words was old. Her facial scaling proclaimed her a Rain Wilder. The hair swept up and pinned to her head was greying, but she strode swiftly down the wide path from the city toward the dragon. The other humans parted to let her through. She walked fearlessly, though with one hand she motioned for her daughter, trotting uncertainly behind her, to stay well back.


    Tintaglia lifted her head to look down on the old woman. She could not quite close her wing over her injury, so she let both her wings hang loose as if she did it intentionally. She waited until the woman was quite close; then she said, ¡®I remember you. You are Jani Khuprus, mother of Reyn Khuprus.¡¯


    ¡®I am.¡¯


    ¡®Where is he? I wish for him and Malta to attend me at once.¡¯ She would not tell this woman she was injured. Beneath the humans¡¯ fog of fear she sensed a simmering anger. And she was still hearing shouts and curses from the area of the flimsy dock she had landed on. She hoped they¡¯d repair it sufficiently for her to safely launch from it.


    ¡®Reyn and Malta are gone. I have not seen or heard from them in days.¡¯


    Tintaglia stared at the woman. There was something ¡­ ¡®You are lying to me.¡¯


    She felt a moment of assent but the words that came from the woman¡¯s lips denied it. ¡®I have not seen them. I am not sure where they are.¡¯


    But you suspect you know. Tintaglia spun the silver of her eyes slowly while she fixed her thought on the upright old woman. She reached for strength and then exuded glamour at Jani. The woman cocked her head and a half-smile formed on her face. Then she drew herself up very straight and fixed her own stern gaze on the dragon. Without speaking, she conveyed to Tintaglia that attempting to charm her had made her more wary and less cooperative.


    Tintaglia abruptly wearied of the game. ¡®I have no time for this. I need my Elderlings. Where did they go, old woman? I can tell that you know.¡¯


    Jani Khuprus just stared at her. Plainly she did not like to be exposed as a liar. The other humans behind her shifted and murmured to one another.


    ¡®Half my damn boat¡¯s smashed!¡¯ A man¡¯s voice.


    Tintaglia turned her head slowly; she knew how sudden movements could wake pain. The man striding toward her was big, as humans went, and he carried a long, hooked pole. It was some sort of boatman¡¯s tool but he carried it as if it might be a weapon. ¡®Dragon!¡¯ He roared the word at her. ¡®What are you going to do to make it good?¡¯


    He brandished the object in a way that made it clear he intended to threaten her. Ordinarily, it would not have concerned her; she doubted it would penetrate her thickest scaling. It would only do damage if he found a tender spot. Such as her wound. She moved deliberately to face him, hoping he would not realize that her slowness was due to weakness rather than disdain for him.


    ¡®Make it good?¡¯ she asked snidely. ¡®If you had ¡°made it good¡± in the first place, it would not have shattered so easily. There is nothing I can do to ¡°make it good¡± for you. I can, however, make it much worse for you.¡¯ She opened her jaws wide, showing him her venom sacs, but he obviously thought that she threatened to eat him. He stumbled back from her, his pike all but forgotten in his hand. When he thought he was a safe distance, he shouted, ¡®This is your fault, Jani Khuprus! You and your kin, those ¡°Elderlings¡± are the ones who brought the dragons here! Much good they did us!¡¯

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    Tintaglia could almost see the fury rise in the old woman. She advanced on the man, heedless that it brought her within range of the dragon. ¡®Much good? Yes, much good, if you count keeping the Chalcedeans out of our river! I¡¯m sorry your boat was damaged, Yulden, but don¡¯t throw the blame on me, or mock my children.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s the dragon¡¯s fault, not Jani¡¯s!¡¯ A woman¡¯s voice from back in the crowd. ¡®Drive the dragon away! Send her off to join the others!¡¯


    ¡®Yes!¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯ll get no meat from us, dragon! Get out of here!¡¯


    ¡®We¡¯ve had enough of your kind here. Be off!¡¯


    Tintaglia stared at them incredulously. Had they forgotten all they¡¯d ever known of dragons? That she could, with one acid-laden breath, melt the flesh from their bones?


    Then, from back in the crowd, the pole came flying. It was the trunk of a sapling, or a branch stripped of twigs, but it had been thrown at her as if it were a spear. It struck her, a feeble blow, and bounced off her hide. Ordinarily, it would not even have hurt, but any jarring movement hurt now. She snapped her head on her long neck to face her attacker, and that hurt even more. For an instant, she began to rise on her hind legs and spread her wings, to terrify these vermin with her size before spitting a mist of venom that would engulf them all. She resisted that reflex just in time: she must not bare the tender flesh beneath her wings and above all she must not let her attackers see her injury. Instead, she drew her head back and felt the glands in her throat swell in readiness.


    ¡®TINTAGLIA!¡¯


    The sound of her name froze her. Not for the first time, she cursed the moment that Reyn Khuprus had so callously gifted the humans gathered in Bingtown with her name. Since then, all humans seemed to know it, and use every opportunity to bind her with it.


    It was the old woman, of course, Jani Khuprus, moving in a stumbling run to put herself between the dragon and the mob. Behind her, her shrieking daughter was held back by the others. She halted, swaying, in front of the dragon and threw up her skinny arms as if they could shield something.


    ¡®Tintaglia, by your name, remember the promises between us! You pledged to help us, to protect us from the Chalcedean invaders, and we in turn cared for the serpents that hatched into dragons! You cannot harm us now!¡¯


    ¡®You have attacked me!¡¯ The dragon was outraged that Jani Khuprus dared to rebuke her.


    ¡®You wrecked my boat!¡¯ The man with the boat hook.


    ¡®You¡¯ve destroyed half the dock!¡¯


    Tintaglia turned her head slowly, shocked to find how careless she had been. There were other humans behind her, humans who had come out of the damaged boats and from the shattered docks. Many of them carried items that were not weapons, but could be used as such. She still had no doubt that she could kill them all before they did her serious harm, but harm they could do in such tight quarters. The trees that leaned over her would prevent an easy launch, even if she were not injured. Abruptly, she realized that she was in a very bad situation. There were other humans, looking down on her from platforms and walkways, and some were moving down the stairways that wound around the immense trunks of the trees.


    ¡®Dragon!¡¯


    She swung her attention back to the old woman. ¡®You should leave,¡¯ Jani Khuprus cried out in a low voice. Tintaglia heard fear in it, but also a pleading. Did she fear what would happen if the dragon had to defend herself?


    ¡®You should follow the rest of your kind, and their keepers who are turning into Elderlings. Go to Kelsingra, dragon! That is where you belong. Not here!¡¯


    ¡®Elderlings. In Kelsingra? I have been there. The city is empty.¡¯


    ¡®Perhaps it was, but no longer. The other dragons have gone there, and the rumour is that the keepers who went with them are becoming Elderlings. Elderlings such as you seek.¡¯


    Something in the old woman¡¯s voice ¡­ no. In her thoughts. Tintaglia focused on her alone. Kelsingra?


    Go there! As Malta and Reyn have gone there. Go, before blood is shed! For all our sakes!


    The old woman had caught on quickly. She stared silently at the dragon, projecting the warning with all her heart.


    ¡®I am leaving,¡¯ Tintaglia announced. She turned slowly, deliberately back toward the docks. The men in front of her muttered angrily, and gave way only grudgingly.


    ¡®Let her leave!¡¯ Jani¡¯s voice rang out again, and surprisingly, other voices echoed hers.


    ¡®Let the dragon go! Good riddance to her!¡¯


    ¡®Please, let her pass, with no one killed!¡¯


    ¡®Let her be gone, and let us be done with all dragons!¡¯

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    The men were giving way to her as she moved toward the damaged dock. They cursed her in low voices and spat on the ground as she passed, but they let her go. Within, she seethed with hatred and disdain for them, and longed to kill them all. How dare they show their petty tempers to her, how dare they spit at her passing, the puny little monkeys! She swung her head slowly as she passed, keeping as many of them in view as she could. As she had feared they might, they closed ranks behind her and moved slowly after her. They could corner her on the dilapidated docks and possibly drive her off into the cold swift river if she were not careful.


    She loosened her wings slightly and steeled her will. This was going to hurt, and she would have only one chance. She studied the long wooden dock before her. Loosened planks sprawled at odd angles and yes, two tethered boats were foundered there, listing at their moorings. She gathered her strength in her hind legs.


    Without warning, she sprang forward in a great leap. Behind her, human voices were raised in roars of fear and dismay. She landed on the dock, and it gave to her weight. And then, as she had hoped, it recovered buoyancy and began to rise. Not much, but it would have to be enough. She flung her wings open, shrieked in harsh fury at the pain and drove her wings down hard as she leapt up.


    It was enough. She caught the wind above the moving river water and, beat by painful beat, rose into the sky. She thought of circling back, of diving on them and sending them scattering, perhaps even diving into the river. But her pain was too great and her growing hunger stabbed her. No. Not now. Now she would hunt, kill, eat and rest. Tomorrow, she would fly on to Kelsingra. Perhaps one day she would return to make them sorry. But first, she must find Elderlings to heal her. She banked and turned and resumed her painful journey upriver.


    ¡®It won¡¯t be long now,¡¯ Leftrin said, and felt vast relief at being able to utter the words. He stood on the roof of the deckhouse. The wintry day was winding down to an early close, but he had sighted the first buildings of Kelsingra. They were nearly home, he thought, and then chuckled. Home? Kelsingra? No. Home was where Alise was now, that was clear for him.


    The journey had been long but not nearly as long as his first trip to Kelsingra. This time he had not been slowed by the need to hold his boat to the pace of plodding dragons, nor to stop early every night so that the hunters might bring meat for the dragons and the keepers could rest their weary bodies. Nor had they wasted days in a shallow swamp trying almost in vain to find their way back to the true course. But even so, the thin wailing of the sickly infant had made each day seem to last a week. He was sure he was not the only one to have been unable to sleep through Phron¡¯s colicky cries. Looking at Reyn¡¯s gaunt face and bloodshot eyes, he knew that the baby¡¯s father had shared his unwilling vigil.


    ¡®That¡¯s Kelsingra? That scatter of buildings?¡¯ Reyn seemed incredulous.


    ¡®No. That¡¯s the beginning of the outskirts. It¡¯s a big city, and it sprawls along the riverbank and maybe extends up into those foothills. With the leaves off the trees, I can see that it¡¯s even bigger than I thought it was.¡¯


    ¡®And it¡¯s just ¡­ deserted? Empty? What happened to all the people? Where did they go? Did they die?¡¯


    Leftrin shook his head and took another long drink from his mug. The steam and aroma of the hot tea swirled up to join the mist over the river. ¡®If we had answers to those questions, Alise would be ecstatic. But we don¡¯t know. Maybe as we explore the city more, we¡¯ll find out. Some of the buildings are empty, as if people packed all their belongings and left. Other homes look as if people pushed back from the table, walked out the door, and never came back.¡¯


    ¡®I should wake Malta. She¡¯ll want to see this.¡¯


    ¡®No, you shouldn¡¯t. Let her sleep and let the baby sleep. It will all still be here when she wakes up, and I think you should let her get whatever rest she can.¡¯ It would have shamed Leftrin to admit that he wasn¡¯t thinking of Malta so much as his own peace. He doubted that Reyn could wake her without disturbing the baby and setting off another long spate of crying. The child was only quiet when he was asleep or nursing, and he seemed to do little of either of late.


    ¡®Is that another dragon?¡¯ Reyn asked suddenly.


    As Leftrin turned his eyes toward the sky, he felt a tingle of interest from his ship. He squinted, but the only colour he could make out was silver. ¡®When I left, only Heeby had made it aloft. The others were trying, but none of them were doing too well. It¡¯s one reason I was so startled to see Sintara a few days ago. Still, it doesn¡¯t seem likely ¡­¡¯

 Page 42

    ¡®It¡¯s Spit!¡¯ Hennesey shouted the news from the afterdeck. ¡®Look at that little bastard fly! Can you see him, Tillamon? He¡¯s silver, so when he¡¯s in front of the overcast, he¡¯s a bit hard ¡­ there! See him? He just broke out from those clouds. He¡¯s one of the smallest and, to start with, one of the stupidest of the dragons. Looks like he can fly now but even if he¡¯s smart enough to get off the ground, he¡¯s still a mean little package of trouble. When we get to the village, you¡¯d best avoid him. But Mercor, now there¡¯s a dragon you¡¯ll enjoy.¡¯


    Tillamon, her shawl clasped around her shoulders, shaded her eyes with her free hand and nodded to every word. Her cheeks were pink with the chill wind and excitement. And perhaps with something more? Hennesey had seemed more garrulous and social of late. Leftrin glanced at Reyn a bit warily, wondering if the Elderling had noticed that the mate was perhaps just a bit too familiar with the lady. But if Reyn had noticed, his objection was drowned by the sudden shrill wail of his son.


    ¡®Damn the luck,¡¯ he said quietly, and left the captain¡¯s side.


    The effect of the baby¡¯s crying on the crew seemed a palpable thing to Leftrin. He wondered if it was because it also seemed to distress the liveship. A shivering of anxiety, probably undetectable to some of the crew members but definitely unnerving to him, ran through the ship. Almost as if in response, Spit dipped one wing to circle overhead, dropping lower with each revolution. Of all the dragons that could take an interest in their arrival, Spit was his least favourite. He was as Hennesey had described him: dim-witted when they had first taken the dragons on, and mean since he had acquired a mind of his own. His temper was uneven, and it seemed to Leftrin that he was the most impulsive of the lot. Even the larger dragons seemed to give him a wide berth when he was in a foul mood.


    As he watched, Spit left off circling above Tarman and sped off downriver. Leftrin hoped he¡¯d spied some prey and that he¡¯d hunt, kill, eat and leave them alone. But in a moment, he heard distant shouts and realized that Spit was now circling the Bingtown boat that still stubbornly shadowed them. Leftrin smiled grimly. Not the sort of prey he¡¯d had in mind for Spit. Well, they¡¯d been curious as to what had become of the cast-out dragons that had left Cassarick in mid-summer. Let them have a good look at what one of them had become.


    Spit descended another notch, tightening his circle so that no one could mistake the object of his interest. Leftrin watched in amusement tinged with alarm as the distant deck of the pursuit vessel suddenly swarmed with human figures. He could not make out what they were shouting. From the very beginning of their pursuit, they had kept their distance from Tarman, never hailing the other ship nor coming close to tie up beside them in the evenings. They had enacted that quarantine, not Leftrin, but he had chosen not to challenge it.


    Now, as Spit circled ever closer to them, he regretted the decision. Regardless of their eventual intent, they were fellow Traders and humans. He wished now that he knew who captained the Bingtown vessel and the temperament of the crew. He wished he had seized an opportunity to caution them against provoking the dragons. They were no longer the earthbound beggars they had been.


    ¡®I never thought they would follow us this far up the river. I was sure we would lose them along the way.¡¯


    Hennesey had joined him on the roof of the deckhouse. When the baby had begun to wail, Tillamon had hastened to see if she could be of any help to Malta, leaving the first mate to recall his duties to the ship. Leftrin glanced over at him. He¡¯d known Hennesey since he was no more than a scupper plug on the ship when Leftrin himself had first come aboard to share that lowly status. Was there a light in his eyes that had never been there before? Hard to tell. Right now, he stared raptly at the drama unfolding downriver.


    ¡®Who could have predicted this? No one.¡¯ Leftrin wondered if he were trying to evade responsibility. For onto the deck had come a man who now assumed the unmistakable stance of an archer. They were too far away for a warning shout from him to carry to the men on the deck or the circling dragon. They could only watch disaster unfurl.


    ¡®Oh, don¡¯t do it ¡­¡¯ Hennesey groaned.


    ¡®Too late.¡¯ Leftrin could barely make out the arrow that took flight but he tracked it by Spit¡¯s response. The dragon evaded it easily and then shot skyward, beating his wings hard to gain altitude.


    The fools on the Bingtown vessel cheered, thinking they had warded off the dragon¡¯s attack. But as Spit reached the top of his arcing flight, he trumpeted out a wild summons. A strange thrill shot through the liveship; Leftrin saw Hennesey feel it as much as he did. Before either man could comment, distant answering cries came from all directions. Then, in less than a breath, half a dozen dragons, including gleaming Mercor and shimmering Sintara, hove into view. Some came from the city, some simply seemed to appear in the sky as if the clouds had hidden them. Kalo, black as a thundercloud and as threatening, shot toward the circling, keening Spit.

 Page 43

    ¡®Like crows gathering to harry an eagle,¡¯ Hennesey pointed out, and in an instant, he was proven right. Instead of one dragon circling the hapless ship, a funnel cloud of avengers was forming. Leftrin was left breathless with wonder. How they had grown since last he had seen them, and how their ability to fly had transformed them! He felt awe that he had walked among such fearsome creatures without terror, that he had doctored their injuries and spoken with them. To see them now, glittering and gleaming even in the dimmed sunlight of the overcast day, transformed them from the crippled and wounded creatures he had shepherded into knife-edged predators of incredible power.


    On the ship below them, men were bellowing commands and warnings to one another. Their archer had set an arrow to his bow and stood, muscles taut, ready to fire should any dragon descend within range. Leftrin could hear the dragons calling to one another ¨C wild trumpets, distant rumbles of thunder and shrill cries.


    ¡®They¡¯re disagreeing about something,¡¯ Hennesey guessed.


    ¡®Those dragons ¡­ can you call to them? Can anyone here persuade one to come to us?¡¯ Malta had joined them. Leftrin turned to look at her, shocked that in the midst of the dragons threatening the other vessel, she still thought only of her child. Then he really saw her and his heart filled with pity.


    The Elderling woman looked terrible. The colours of humanity had fled from her face, and the overlay of bluish scaling made the rest of her seem grey, as if someone had ornamented stone. There were lines by her mouth and under her eyes. Her hair had been brushed, braided and pinned up. It was tidy but it did not gleam. Life was draining out of her.


    ¡®I can¡¯t call them, I¡¯m afraid. But we are close to Kelsingra, Malta. As soon as we arrive the keepers will be able to summon them. Even if we could call one here, it could not land and speak with us. Once we are off the river¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Dragon fight!¡¯ Hennesey interrupted them. From Tarman¡¯s deck, there were shouts of amazement. Leftrin turned in time to see Spit diving on the distant ship. He seemed luminous, his silver sparkling like a tumbling coin, and by that the captain knew that his poison glands would be swollen or ready. Matching him in his dive was Mercor: as Spit swept over the ship, the golden dragon came up suddenly beneath him and knocked him off his course. The golden dragon beat his wings strongly, bearing the smaller silver up and away before tilting sideways and away from him, leaving Spit flapping wildly as he fell. As he went down, a pale cloud of sparkling venom shone. Just short of the water, the silver dragon recovered, but not well. He flew, his wings flinging up splashes at the tips, to land awkwardly at the river¡¯s edge. The venom fell too, dispersing as the light wind touched it, landing harmlessly in the river rather than on the ship. From the shore, Spit¡¯s vocalizations were savage and furious.


    The crew of the other ship bent energetically to their sweeps. It was moving downriver as fast as the current and its oars could carry it. Overhead, the circling dragons took it in turns to feint dives at the fleeing boat, their trumpeted calls conveying merriment and mockery to Leftrin. After a time, he realized that the boat was scarcely their target any more; they appeared to be competing to see who could dive fastest and swoop closest to it before rising back to join the others. Spit managed to launch himself back into the air but he did not join the others. He flew laboriously, possibly injured from his collision, back toward the heart of Kelsingra. Leftrin continued to watch the Bingtown boat as the dragons harried it out of sight down the river. He waited, but even after it was out of sight, the dragons did not return.


    ¡®They¡¯ve changed,¡¯ Hennesey observed quietly.


    ¡®Indeed they have,¡¯ Leftrin agreed.


    ¡®They¡¯re real now,¡¯ the mate said. More quietly he added, ¡®They frighten me.¡¯


    Day the 27th of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Keffria Vestrit, of the Bingtown Traders


    To Jani Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders, Trehaug


    Jani, as we both well know, there is no privacy to bird-sent messages any more. If you have anything of great confidentiality, please send it in a packet by any of the liveships that ply the Rain Wild River. I have far more confidence in them than I do in the so-called Bird Keepers¡¯ Guild. I will do the same, save for tidings that must reach you immediately and thus must, unfortunately, be subject to spying and gossip.


    Herewith, the bones of what you must know. My messages to Malta are going unanswered. I am gravely concerned, especially since she was so close to giving birth. If you can send me any tidings to put my mind at ease, I would greatly appreciate it.

 Page 44

    Other information also too grave to delay sharing: I have finally heard from Wintrow in the Pirate Isles. You may recall I wrote to him months ago to ask if he knew anything of Selden. As is often the case with letters sent through that region, both my message and his response were greatly delayed. He had no tidings of Elderlings but was alarmed at gossip of a ¡®Dragon-Boy¡¯ exhibited in a travelling display of freaks and oddities that had been journeying through his territory. Efforts on his part to learn more were fruitless. He fears that those he has queried have been less than frank for fear of incurring the wrath of the Pirate Queen¡¯s consort. I beg you to use your contacts to ask if anyone has heard of such a travelling exhibition, and where they were last seen.


    With great anxiety,


    Keffria


    CHAPTER SEVEN


    City Dwellers


    Moving to the city had proved more challenging for the keepers than the dragons, Thymara thought. Kelsingra was a city built for dragons. The broad streets, the immense fountains, the scale of the public buildings all proclaimed that dragons had resided there. Entries were tall and wide, steps were set for a dragon¡¯s tread, and every dimension of every chamber dwarfed humans to insignificance. For keepers who had grown up in the tiny tree-houses of Trehaug and Cassarick, the differences were stunning. ¡®It doesn¡¯t feel like I¡¯m inside,¡¯ Harrikin had observed the first time he entered the dragon baths. All the keepers had clustered together, looking up in wonder at the immense frescoes on the ceiling far overhead. Sylve, Thymara, Alum and Boxter had held hands and tried to measure the diameter of one of the supporting pillars. The first night that all the keepers had spent in the city together, they had slept in a cluster in the corner of an immense room, as if the building were a new kind of wilderness in which they had to huddle together against unknown dangers.


    For the dragons, it was different. They had prospered since they had gained access to as much warmth as they wanted. After soaking in the baths they had gone on to recall and visit other sites in the city that had been created for the enjoyment of their kind. At the crest of one of the hills, there was a structure where sections of stone wall alternated with glass beneath a domed roof. The ceiling was a strange patchwork of glass and stone as well, while the heat-radiating floor contained shallow pits of sand in varying degrees of coarseness.


    The building would have been incomprehensible to her a few years ago. Now she knew at a glance that it was a place for dragons to sprawl on heated sand while watching the life of the city below them or the slow wheeling of the stars by night. She had first seen it when Sintara had summoned her there a few days ago, much to Thymara¡¯s surprise, and bade her search through the cupboards and shelves to see if the tools for dragon grooming remained in their old storage places. While she had looked, Sintara had writhed and wallowed in the sand, near burying herself in the hot particles. She had emerged gleaming like molten blue metal fresh from a furnace.


    Time had rendered most of the grooming tools into rust and dust, but a few remained intact. There were small tools with metal bristles of something that rust had not eaten, and brushes like scrubbing brushes, but with the handles crafted of stone and the metal bristles set in clusters. There were metal rasps with the wooden handles long gone, glass flasks with a thickened residue of oil in the bottom, and a gleaming black case that held an assortment of black metal needles and other items she did not comprehend. Specialized tools for grooming dragons, she supposed, and wondered if one day all the niceties of that lost skill would be recalled.


    With the smaller brushes, Thymara had performed the delicate grooming around Sintara¡¯s eyes, nostrils and ear-holes, scrubbing away the remnants of messy meals. They had not spoken much, but Thymara had noticed many things about her dragon. Her claws, once blunted from walking and cracked by too much contact with water and mud, were now longer and harder and sharper. Her colours were stronger, her eyes brighter, and she had grown, not just putting on flesh, but gaining length in her tail. Her shape was changing as her muscles took on the duties of flight and forgot the long earthbound years of slogging through mud. This was no great lizard that she groomed, but a raptor, a flying predator that was both as lovely as a hummingbird and as deadly as a living blade. Thymara privately marvelled that she dared touch such a being. It was only when she noticed Sintara¡¯s eyes whirling with pleasure that she realized the dragon was a party to all her thoughts and was relishing her wonder.


    As she realized it, the dragon acknowledged it. ¡®I awe you. Perhaps you cannot sing my praises with your voice, but reflected in you, I know I am the most magnificent of the dragons you have ever seen.¡¯

 Page 45

    ¡®Reflected in me?¡¯


    Dragons did not smile, but Thymara felt Sintara¡¯s amusement. ¡®Do you fish for compliments?¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t understand,¡¯ Thymara replied both honestly and resentfully. The dragon¡¯s response had somehow implied she was vain. About what? About having the most beautiful of the queen dragons? One that alternated ignoring her with mocking or insulting her?


    ¡®The most beautiful of all the dragons,¡¯ Sintara amended her thought for her. ¡®And the most brilliant and creative, as is clearly reflected in my having created the most dazzling Elderling.¡¯


    Thymara stared at her wordlessly. The brush hung forgotten in her hand.


    Sintara gave a small snort of amusement. ¡®From the beginning, I saw you had the most potential for development. It was why I chose you.¡¯


    ¡®I thought I chose you,¡¯ Thymara faltered. Her heart was thundering. Her dragon thought she was beautiful! This soaring she felt, was it merely Sintara¡¯s beguilement of her? She tried to ground herself but was certain this was not the dragon¡¯s effortless glamorizing of her. This was what Sintara actually thought of her. Extraordinary!


    ¡®Oh, doubtless you thought you chose me,¡¯ Sintara went on with casual arrogance. ¡®But I drew you to me. And as you see, I have employed a keen eye and a sure skill to make you the loveliest and most unusual of the Elderlings that now live. Just as I am the most glorious of the dragons.¡¯


    Thymara was silent, wishing she could deny the dragon¡¯s self-aggrandizing, but knowing only a fool would claim to have lied in her thoughts. ¡®Mercor gleams like liquid gold,¡¯ she began, but Sintara snorted contemptuously.


    ¡®Drakes! They have their colours and their muscles, but when it comes to beauty they have no patience for detail. Look at Sylve¡¯s scaling some time and then compare it to your own. Plain as grass she is. Even in colouring their own scales, the other dragons lag far behind me.¡¯ She shook herself and then came suddenly to her feet, erupting out of the hot sand and opening her wings in a single motion. ¡®Look at these!¡¯ she commanded proudly, flourishing her wings so that the wind from them sent particles of sand flying into Thymara¡¯s face. ¡®Where have you seen such intricacy, such brilliance of colour, such design?¡¯


    Thymara stared. Then wordlessly, she dragged her tunic up and over her head, to unfold her own wings. A glance over her shoulder told her that she had not imagined it. The differences were of scale only. She mirrored Sintara¡¯s glory. Dragons did not laugh as humans did, but the sound Sintara made was definitely one of amusement.


    The dragon settled herself onto the sand, leaving her wings open over the heated beds. ¡®There. Next time you are moaning and snivelling that your dragon has no time for you, look over your shoulder and realize you already wear my colours. What more could any creature ask?¡¯


    Thymara had looked back at her basking dragon, torn between emotions. Did she dare trust any display of kindliness from her? ¡®You seem different,¡¯ she ventured hesitantly and wondered what the dragon would read more strongly, her suspicion or her hope. She braced herself for mockery. It did not come.


    ¡®I am different. I am not hungry. I am not cold. I am not a crippled, pitiable thing. I am a dragon. I don¡¯t need you, Thymara.¡¯ Sintara shook herself and excess sand that had been trapped beneath her scales went runnelling down her sides in streams. Without being asked, Thymara found a long-handled brush. The handle was of a strangely light metal, as were the bristles. She studied them for a long moment; they gleamed like metal but flexed at her touch. More Elderling magic, she supposed. She began to apply it to Sintara, working from the back of her head down, dislodging particles of sand that had wedged at the edges of her scaling. Sintara closed her eyes in pleasure. By the time she reached the end of her tail, Thymara had formed her question. ¡®Needing me made you dislike me?¡¯


    ¡®No dragon likes to be dependent. Even the Elderlings came to realize that.¡¯


    ¡®Dragons were dependent on Elderlings?¡¯ She sensed that she trod in dangerous territory, but she formed the question anyway. ¡®For what?¡¯


    The dragon looked at her for a long moment and she wished she had not dared to ask, sensing how resentful Sintara was of her question. ¡®For Silver.¡¯ She spoke the word and stared at Thymara, eyes whirling as if the girl would deny what she said. Thymara waited. ¡®For a time Silver ran in the river here and was easy to find. Then, there was an earthquake, and things changed. The Silver ran thinly for a time. Some dragons could find it by diving into the shallows and digging for it. Sometimes it welled up abruptly, and showed as a silver streak in the river. But mostly, it did not. Then, we could only get it from the Elderlings.¡¯

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    ¡®I don¡¯t understand.¡¯ Thymara kept her words as soft and neutral as she could. ¡®Silver? A treasure of some kind?¡¯


    ¡®Neither do I understand!¡¯ In a fury, the dragon erupted fully from the sand-pit. ¡®It¡¯s not a treasure, not as humans think of such. Not metal made into little rounds to trade for food, nor decorations for the body. It¡¯s the Silver, precious to dragons. It¡¯s here. It was here, first in the river near this city, and then, when the Elderlings lived, here in the city, somewhere. Everything else we can find here. All the pleasures we recalled from Kelsingra are here ¨C the hot-water baths, the winter shelters, the sand-grooming places, everything else we recall so clearly is here. So the Silver should be here too. Somewhere. But not one of us can find it. There were places in the city where the Elderlings helped us get the Silver. None of us recall them clearly. All of us find that strange, as if a memory has been deliberately withheld from us.¡¯ Sintara lashed her tail in frustration. ¡®One place, we think, is gone with the collapsing street along the riverside. Another may be where the earth split open and the river flowed in. Gone and lost. Baliper tried to dive for it there, but that chasm is deep and the water got colder the deeper he went. There is no Silver there for us.


    ¡®There were other places. We think. But those memories are lost to us, lost since we hatched, along with all manner of information we cannot even guess at. We will not be full dragons, nor you real Elderlings, until we can find the Silver wells. But you refuse to remember! No Elderling dreams of the wells. And try as I may, I cannot even make you dream of a Silver well!¡¯


    With these words, she had given a final shudder and a lash of her tail. Thymara leapt back and watched her wade out of the sand-pit and then stalk out of the doors that opened for her and then closed behind her, leaving Thymara staring after her.


    Thymara had pondered the dragon¡¯s words in the days that followed. Sintara had spoken true. She had often encountered a dragon wandering the streets, snuffing and searching. Her curiosity was piqued. She had asked Alise if she knew of any Silver wells in Kelsingra, but Alise had only looked puzzled. ¡®There is a fountain called Golden Dragon Fountain. I read of that, once, in a very old manuscript. But if it remains intact, I haven¡¯t found it yet.¡¯ She had smiled and then commented as if vaguely amused, ¡®But I dreamed a few nights ago that I was looking for a silver well. Such an odd dream.¡¯ She had cocked her head and furrowed her brow with the faraway look of someone who tinkers with the threads of a mystery. A strange thrill ran through Thymara. It was the same look Alise had worn so often earlier in the expedition, when she had been putting pieces together to understand something about Elderlings or dragons. She had not seen it on her face for some time.


    Alise mused aloud, ¡®There are odd mentions in some of the old manuscripts, things I was never able to make sense of. Hints that there was a special reason for Kelsingra to exist, something secret, something to guard ¡­¡¯ A slow look of wonder had dawned on her face. She spoke more to herself than to Thymara as she muttered, ¡®Not so useless, perhaps. Not if I can ferret out what they mean.¡¯


    Alise¡¯s look had gone distant. Thymara had known that any further conversation with her that day would consist of her own questions and the Bingtown woman¡¯s distracted replies. She had thanked her, decided she had delivered the mystery to someone better suited to handle it, and put silver wells out of her mind.


    But Sintara¡¯s remark about dependence she did not forget. She watched the other dragons grow and yes, change, some becoming more affable and others more arrogant as they gained independence of their keepers. It was odd to watch the ties between them loosen. Different keepers adapted to the dragons¡¯ dwindling interest in them in various ways. Some relished having leisure time and a beautiful city to explore. Suddenly the keepers could put their own well-being first. They made their first priority comfortable lodging. Although the city offered a vast array of empty dwellings, Thymara was amused that she and her fellows ended up in three buildings that fronted onto what they had begun to call the Square of the Dragons, after a very large sculpture in the middle of it. They could have moved into what Alise called villas or mansions, structures that were larger than the Traders¡¯ Concourse back in Trehaug. Instead, most of them had chosen the smaller, simpler quarters above the dragon baths, housing obviously designed for those who tended dragons. It was wonder enough to Thymara to have as her own room a chamber twice as large as her family home had been. It was wealth to possess a bed that softened under her, a large mirror, drawers and shelves of her own. She could soak in a steaming bath as often as she wished and then retire to a room so comfortably warm that she needed no blankets or garments at all. She had time to study herself in the mirror, time to braid and pin up her hair, time to wonder who and what she was becoming.

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    But such luxuries did not mean that daily life was all leisure. There was no game in the city, and few green growing plants and no dry wood for cooking fuel. Gathering those demanded daily hikes to the outskirts of the sprawling city. Carson had suggested that they needed to create some sort of a dock for Tarman. The liveship would need a safe place to be tied up when he returned, and they needed a place for unloading the supplies they hoped he would bring. ¡®We will need docks and wharves, too, for our own vessels. We can¡¯t always assume Tarman and Captain Leftrin will ferry our supplies for free.¡¯


    That comment had drawn startled looks from the gathered keepers. Carson had grinned. ¡®What? Do you think we are reclaiming this city for only five years, or ten? Talk to Alise, my friends. You may well live a hundred years or more. So what we build now, we had best build well.¡¯ With that, Carson had begun to sketch out the tasks before them. Hunting and gathering for their daily needs, building a dock for the city and, to Thymara¡¯s surprise, sampling the memories stored in stone to try to understand the workings of the city.


    Thymara had volunteered to bring in food and hunted almost daily. As early spring claimed the land, the forested hills behind the city yielded greens and some roots, but their diet was still mostly flesh. Thymara was heartily weary of it. She did not relish the long hike to the edge of the city, nor the return journey burdened with firewood or bloody meat. But her days in the hills with her bow or gathering basket were now the only simple times in her life.


    On the days when she remained in the city, she contended with both Tats and Rapskal. Their rivalry for her attention had eclipsed the friendship they once had shared. They had never come to blows, but when they could not avoid one another, the awkwardness between them froze any hope of normal conversation. Several times she had been trapped between them, besieged by Rapskal¡¯s endless chattering from one side as Tats sought to win her attention with small articles he had made for her or stories of his discoveries in the city. The intensity of the attention they focused on her made it impossible for her to speak to anyone else, and she winced whenever she thought of how it must appear to the others, as if she deliberately provoked their rivalry. If Tats had noticed something about the city and wondered about it, Rapskal was sure to claim knowledge of what it was and explain it endlessly while Tats glowered. As the keepers still gathered for most of their meals, it had begun to cause a rift in the group. Sylve sided with Thymara, sitting with her no matter which of her suitors claimed the spot on her other side. Harrikin made no effort to disguise his support for Tats, while Kase and Boxter were firmly in Rapskal¡¯s camp. A few of the others expressed no preference and some, such as Nortel and Jerd, resolutely ignored the whole issue when they were not making snide comments on it.


    If one had work duty, the other took advantage of his absence to woo her. When Tats worked on the docks, Rapskal would insist on going hunting with her, even if Harrikin were her assigned partner for the day. Worse were the days when both she and Rapskal were free. He would lurk outside her chamber door. The moment she appeared, he would beg her to accompany him back to the villa and the memory columns, to join him in learning more of their Elderling forebears.


    She felt a trace of shame when she thought how often she surrendered and joined him there. It was an escape to a gloriously elegant time. In that dream world she danced gracefully, partook of extravagant feasts and attended plays, lived a life such as she had never imagined. But Amarinda¡¯s passing observations of life allowed Thymara to gain an understanding of how the city had once worked. Conservatories had furnished fruits and greens year round, while the humans in outlying settlements and across the river had traded what they manufactured, raised and grew with the Elderlings for their magical items. With Carson and Alise she had visited several of the immense greenhouses. They were sized for a dragon to stroll through, with chest-high beds for soil and gigantic pots for trees. Yet whatever had once flourished there had perished long ago, leaving only a shadowy tracery of long-vanished leaves on the floor and hollow stumps in the soil. The earth in the containers looked usable, and water still spilled from leaks in the system of pipes that had once heated and irrigated the plant beds.


    ¡®But without seeds or plant stock, we cannot start anything here,¡¯ Alise observed sadly.


    ¡®Perhaps in spring,¡¯ Carson had said. ¡®We might move wild plants here and tend them.¡¯


    Alise had nodded slowly. ¡®If we can find seed or take cuttings from plants we know, then the new Elderlings could begin to farm for themselves again. Or if Leftrin could bring seeds and plant starts to us.¡¯

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    In other memory-walks, Thymara glimpsed gauntleted Elderlings at work. They stroked sculpture from stone, imbued wood with mobility, and persuaded metal to gleam, sing, and heat or cool water. Their shops lined some of the narrow streets and they called greetings to Amarinda as she passed. Thymara felt an odd kinship with them, an almost-recall of what they did but not how. Amarinda merely strolled past amazing feats with scarcely a glance, accepting them as part of her everyday world. But there were other places and times when Amarinda focused her attention intently and relentlessly, drowning Thymara in her emotions and sensations. The Elderling woman¡¯s infatuation with Tellator continued, deepened and became a lifelong passion. In the space of a single afternoon of memory-walking, Thymara experienced months of her life. She would emerge from those hours with dimmed eyes and dulled senses, her hand clasping Rapskal¡¯s as he sprawled on the steps beside her. She would turn her head and see him wearing Tellator¡¯s smile, and the thumb that rubbed sensuously against the palm of her hand was not Rapskal¡¯s at all. Only slowly would his gaze become Rapskal¡¯s again, and she wondered who he saw when he looked at her, which parts he remembered as they rose, stiff and chilled. Rapskal always wanted to speak of the shared memories afterwards. And she always refused. After all, they were only memories. Dreams.


    Did it matter what she experienced as a memory-walker? If the food she ate there did not nourish her, did the sex she enjoyed in that world matter in this one? She was of two minds. Certainly, it had changed her attitude toward many things that people could do in a cosy bed on a winter¡¯s eve or in a meadow under a summer sky. Could she claim she was not being intimate with Rapskal when she knew that he wore Tellator¡¯s skin? Certainly, she assured herself. Sometimes. For he could change nothing that Tellator did or felt, just as she had no control over Amarinda. She could not prevent their lovers¡¯ quarrels and she could not sidetrack their sensuous reunions. It was as if they watched the same play, or heard the same story told. That was all.


    Sometimes she could almost believe that. Certainly, that puppetry of intimacy did not seem to completely satisfy Rapskal. Often, as they walked back to their lodgings he would drop hints or outright beg her to come with him to some private place where they could re-enact what they had just experienced. She always refused. Over and over, she had told him that she did not want to risk a pregnancy. Yet she could not deny that she longed for the excitement of being the woman in control of the situation. Or a woman being loved by a man.


    And today, as she strolled with Tats down to the riverside to visit the dock construction, the same thoughts were still on her mind. What would it be like to have Tats as a lover? She had experienced Tellator any number of times now, and shared one long night with Rapskal. Would Tats be as different from both of them as Rapskal had been from Tellator? It was an unsettling thing to wonder and she tried to push the thoughts aside. She gave the young man beside her a sideways glance. His face was grave and thoughtful. A question popped out of her mouth before she considered the wisdom of asking it.


    ¡®Have you dream-walked in any of the memory-stones yet?¡¯


    He squinted at her as if she were a bit odd. ¡®Of course I have. We all have. Boxter and Kase go to a whorehouse and linger with the sampling they offer there. Some of the others join them there from time to time. Don¡¯t look at me like that! What else would you expect them to do? Neither Kase nor Boxter have any hope of finding a mate unless other women move to Kelsingra, and that certainly won¡¯t be any time soon. Alum, Harrikin and Sylve found a place where some of the famous Elderling minstrels immortalized their performances. And you yourself lingered with us when we watched the puppet show and the juggler and then the acrobats that night the Long Street was remembering a festival there. So, yes, we¡¯ve all memory-walked in the stones. Hard to avoid it when we live here.¡¯


    That wasn¡¯t what she had meant, but she was relieved he had taken her question that way.


    ¡®I know. How can you walk down one of the broad streets at night and not share the memories there?¡¯ She snorted. ¡®Sylve told me that when Jerd finds a street memory of a festival night, she follows the richly dressed women home, and then searches their dwellings for any jewellery or garments that have survived. She has amassed quite a wardrobe.¡¯ She shook her head, wondering if she thought Jerd was greedy or envied her expert looting. Then in a low voice, she admitted, ¡®That isn¡¯t the kind of memory-walking I was talking about.¡¯


    Tats gave her a long level look. ¡®Do I ask you questions like that?¡¯


    She looked away. After a time had passed when she did not respond, he added, ¡®There are a lot of reasons to memory-walk that have nothing to do with sex or eating or listening to music. Carson tries to discover how the city works. He asked me to see what I could find out about the original docks. Not that we can replicate them, lacking the sort of magic the old Elderlings had. But to see what sort of things they considered when they were building them, as people who had known this stretch of river for a long time.¡¯ He sighed and shook his head. ¡®I went to places where I thought they would have kept records of things like that. That big building with the map tower, and then that one with all the faces carved above the doors. We thought maybe that was an important place. But nothing. Or actually, much too much. I learned things that I still don¡¯t understand. Do you know why so much of this city is still standing? Why grass hasn¡¯t grown in the streets, or cracks haven¡¯t started in the fountains? It¡¯s because stone remembers here. It remembers that it¡¯s a building fa?ade, or a street or the bowl of a fountain. It remembers, and it can repair itself, on some level. It can¡¯t fix itself if a quake makes a gigantic crack. But tiny cracks and crumbles just don¡¯t happen. The stone holds onto itself. It remembers.¡¯

 Page 49

    He shook his head in wonder at the thought and then added, ¡®And they could do more than that, it seems. You know how some of the keepers swear they have seen a statue move? The Elderlings knew how to do that. They breathed life into the stone, and the stone keeps a part of them and can move. Sometimes. When it¡¯s awakened by ¡­ something. Something that I could not understand, even though an old man was remembering it clearly. It made me realize that Alise was right, is right. We need to know what she knows about the history of this city, and then we need to apply it. You know what she told me a few days ago? That when Rapskal confronted her that day and said she wasn¡¯t an Elderling and that the city didn¡¯t belong to her, she was so discouraged that she nearly burned all her work! Can you imagine it? I knew I felt angry at him that day, but I¡¯d no idea how badly he had hurt Alise.¡¯


    He paused, and she sensed he hoped she would share his anger. He waited for her to say something and she knew that if she did, it would be saying much more than that she thought Rapskal had been thoughtlessly cruel. Tats watched her stillness. But she could not find a way out of her silence. Rapskal hadn¡¯t said it to hurt Alise; he¡¯d said it to assert his right to the city. A silly thought danced in her brain. Alise is a grown-up. Can grown-ups really have their feelings so badly hurt? So hurt they think of burning all their work or killing themselves? But by the time she realized how childish her reaction was, Tats had shaken his head at her silence and moved on.


    ¡®We need to map this city. Not just the streets, but where the spring houses are, and the drains. And we need to make maps that show what information is stored where. Right now, it¡¯s like a huge treasure house, full of thousands of boxes of treasures, and we have thousands of different keys. The wealth is here, right under our feet, but we can¡¯t make sense of it. Like that Silver well that Sylve was talking about the other day.¡¯


    She looked at him, surprised. He mistook it for confusion.


    ¡®I guess your mind was elsewhere. She says she keeps having dreams about a silver well. She¡¯s wandered through the city looking for it, but hasn¡¯t seen anything like what she dreamed. She thinks she¡¯s remembering something that Mercor knows about. She says he mentioned something about the silver wells of Kelsingra, a long time ago when we first began our journey here. She wants to talk to him but she¡¯s like the rest of us. Since her dragon took flight, he doesn¡¯t have a lot of time for her. And she said another odd thing. She says it feels like he avoids the topic, as if it makes him uncomfortable.¡¯


    ¡®Sintara spoke to me once of a silver well. It seemed very important to her. But she said her memories of it were fragmented.¡¯ She put the words out casually.


    ¡®The well isn¡¯t silver,¡¯ Tats said slowly. He gave her a sideways glance as if he expected her to mock him. ¡®I dreamed of it last night. The structure around it was old and very fancy. As much wood as stone, as if it had been built at the very beginning of the city. Inside there was this mechanism ¡­ I couldn¡¯t see it well. But when you cranked up the bucket from the depths, it was full of silvery stuff. Thicker than water. Dragons can drink it and love it. But I had the feeling it was dangerous to humans.¡¯


    ¡®Humans? Or Elderlings?¡¯


    He looked at her for a long moment. ¡®I¡¯m not sure. In the dream I knew I had to be very careful of it. But was I dreaming it as if I were a human or an Elderling?¡¯


    It was her turn to sigh. ¡®Sometimes I don¡¯t like what this place is doing to me. Even without touching memory-stones, I have dreams that don¡¯t quite belong to me. I turn a corner and just for an instant, I feel like I¡¯m someone else, with a whole lifetime of memories and friends and expectations for the day. I pass a house and want to visit a friend, one I¡¯ve never had.¡¯


    Tats was nodding. ¡®Those standing stones, the big ones in the circle in that plaza, they remind me of different cities when I pass them. You know, the other Elderling cities ¡­¡¯


    She shook her head at him. ¡®No. But I walk through a memory of a market and suddenly I want a fish cake spiced with that hot red oil. And then, just as abruptly, I¡¯m me again and I know that I¡¯m sick of fish, with or without red oil.¡¯


    ¡®The memories tug at me, too. I don¡¯t like it¡ª¡¯ Tats halted suddenly. He took her arm, pulling her to a stop.


    Down by the river, work progressed under Carson¡¯s supervision. A crude wooden dock made of logs had been roped to some of the old support columns. The river tugged at it and grey water bulged and flowed over the end of it. Harrikin, stripped to worn trousers and securely roped against the current, was in the water, trying to force one log into alignment with another. Carson was shouting directions to him as he kept tension on a line tied to the opposite end of the timber. Lecter, muscles bunching with effort, crouched over a log on the shore, slowly turning a drill to put a hole through it. Not far away, Alum was smoothing straight pieces of sapling into dowel. The sound rode thin on the spring wind. Nortel, ribs bandaged from a log-setting mishap earlier in the week, crouched on the dock with a mallet and pegs, waiting to fasten the log. It was cold, wet, dangerous work. And it was Tats¡¯s assignment for the afternoon. He tugged at her hand and she met his gaze. ¡®I¡¯ve heard what Rapskal says. That we have to plunge ourselves into the city¡¯s memories if we are to learn how to live here as Elderlings. But I also remember all the warnings I heard in Trehaug. What Leftrin told us before he left, that lingering too long near memory-stone can drown you. That you can lose your own life in remembering someone else¡¯s.¡¯

 Page 50

    Thymara was silent for a moment. Tats had put a precise finger on her own fear, the one that she didn¡¯t like to admit. ¡®But we are Elderlings. It¡¯s different for us.¡¯


    ¡®Is it? I know Rapskal says that, but is it? Did the Elderlings prize having their own lives, or did they grow up so saturated in other people¡¯s experiences that they didn¡¯t realize what was theirs and what they¡¯d absorbed? I like being me, Thymara. I want to still be Tats, no matter how long I live and tend my dragon. And I want to share those years with Thymara. I don¡¯t need to soak you in someone else¡¯s life when I¡¯m with you.¡¯ He paused, letting her feel the sting of that little barb. Then he added, ¡®My turn for a question. Are you living your life, Thymara? Or avoiding it by living someone else¡¯s?¡¯


    He knew. She hadn¡¯t confided in him about the memory columns and her visits there with Rapskal. But somehow he knew. A deep blush heated her face. As her silence became longer, the hurt in his eyes deepened. She tried to tell herself that she¡¯d done nothing wrong, that his hurt was not her fault. He spoke while she struggled to find words.


    ¡®It¡¯s pretending, Thymara.¡¯ His voice was low but not gentle. ¡®It¡¯s not plunging into this life in Kelsingra. It¡¯s letting go of now, and living the past, a past that will never return. It¡¯s not even really living. You don¡¯t make decisions there, and if the consequences become too dark, you can run away. You take on a style of thinking, and when you come back to this world, it sways you. But worst of all is, while you are swimming in memories, what are you not doing here? What experiences are you missing, what chances pass you by? A year from now, what will you say about these seasons, what will you remember?¡¯


    She was moving from embarrassed to angry. Tats had no right to rebuke her. He might think she was doing something foolish, but she hadn¡¯t hurt anyone with it. Well, only him, and only his feelings. And wasn¡¯t that partially his own fault, for caring about such things?


    He knew she was getting angry. She saw how he tightened his shoulders and heard his voice deepen a notch. ¡®When you¡¯re with me, Thymara ¡­ if you ever decide to be with me ¡­ I won¡¯t be thinking of anyone else except you. I won¡¯t call you by someone else¡¯s name, or do something to you because it¡¯s what someone else liked a long, long time ago. When you finally decide to let me touch you, I¡¯ll be touching you. Only you. Can Rapskal say that to you?¡¯


    Her mind swirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Then, from the riverbank, Carson shouted, ¡®Dragon fight! Keepers, get down here!¡¯


    She spun away from Tats and ran, as much toward danger as away from it.


    ¡®Why do you hate me?¡¯


    She gave two final snips with her shears before she spoke, then ran her slender fingers through his hair, loosening it as she checked for any more mats or tangles. It sent a shiver up his back and he shuddered to cast it off. Another woman might have smiled at his reaction. Chassim¡¯s eyes remained cold and distant. She replied with a question of her own. ¡®Why do you suppose I hate you, dragon-man? Have I treated you with anything less than respect? Been less than attentive and subservient to you in any way?¡¯


    ¡®Your hatred shimmers around you like heat from a fire,¡¯ he replied honestly. She stepped away from him to fling handfuls of his damp hair out of a barred window. That task done, she closed the window and then folded down the elaborate wooden cover. Even though the cover was painted white and bore images of birds and flowers, it still plunged the room into gloom. Selden sighed at the loss of sunlight: his body craved it after the long months of deprivation.


    The woman halted, her hand on the screen. ¡®I have displeased you and now you will tell my father.¡¯ It was not a question.


    He was startled. ¡®No. I just miss the daylight. I was kept for months inside a heavy tent, and journeyed here in the hold of a ship. I¡¯ve missed fresh air and daylight.¡¯


    She moved away from the window without opening the cover. ¡®Why look on what you cannot have?¡¯


    He wondered if that was why she had draped herself, head to foot, in a shapeless white shroud. Only the square of her face was visible; he had never seen a woman attired so and suspected it was her own invention. All Rain Wilds folk went veiled when they visited other places. Even when they went to Bingtown, where folk should have known better, their scales and wattles drew curious eyes and invited fear or mockery. But a Rain Wilds woman would have veiled her face as well, and her gloves and robes would have been rich with embroidery and beading. Her garments would have displayed her wealth and power. This woman was swathed as plainly as if her body had been wrapped for a pauper¡¯s grave. Her bared face, though fair, was a window into the anger and resentment she felt. Almost he wished she had hidden those eyes from him.

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    Yet the fury in her eyes had not reached the gentleness of her touch. He lifted his hands to his hair and ran his fingers through it. She had left it to his shoulders. It felt light and soft, and for the first time in months his fingers moved freely through it. Such a wonder to be entirely clean and warm. She had trimmed his nails, hands and feet, and scrubbed his back and legs and arms with a soft brush until his skin blushed pink and his scaling shone. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged with salves and clean linen. It had felt odd and uncomfortable to be groomed as if he were a prize animal, but he had neither the strength nor the will to resist her. Even now, wrapped in soft blankets and enthroned before a fire, he felt it took all his strength just to hold his head upright. He gave up and let it loll back on the cushions. He could feel the drag of his eyelids. He struggled to stay awake: he needed to think, to put together the pieces of information they had given him.


    The Chancellor had brought him here, apparently at great expense, and presented him to the Duke. The Duke had spoken kindly to him, had placed him here with this woman who tended him with both gentleness and disdain. What did they want of him? Why had his presentation to the Duke seemed so formal and portentous? Questions, but no clear answers. Life was suspended, his existence dependent on the whims of others. He had to decipher the mystery. In this woman¡¯s care, he had the chance to regain his health. Could he manipulate that into a chance to regain his freedom?


    Stay awake. Ask questions. Make plans. He fixed a smile on his face and inquired casually, ¡®So. Chancellor Ellik is your father?¡¯


    She turned back to him, startled. Her upper lip was lifted like a cat¡¯s that smelled something bad. He could not tell if she were pretty or even how old she was. He saw her pale-blue eyes and sandy lashes, a face sprinkled with faded freckles, a small mouth and a pointed chin. All else was hidden. ¡®My father? No. My suitor. He wishes to marry me, to gather power to himself, so that as my father fails, he may assume it.¡¯


    ¡®Your father is failing?¡¯


    ¡®My father is dying, and has been for a long time. I wish he would accept that and do it. My father is the Duke of Chalced. Antonicus Kent.¡¯


    Selden was doubly startled. ¡®Your father is the Duke of Chalced? That is his name? I¡¯ve never heard it.¡¯


    She turned away from him again, hiding her face from his honest stare. ¡®No one speaks it any more. When he made himself Duke, years before I was born, he declared that was all he would ever be, for the rest of his life. Even as a child, I did not refer to him as ¡°father¡± or ¡°papa¡±. No. He is always ¡°the Duke¡±.¡¯


    Selden sighed, all hopes of an alliance fled. ¡®So. Your father, the Duke, is my captor.¡¯


    The woman gave him an odd look. ¡®Captor. That is a kind word for someone who intends to devour you in hopes of prolonging his own life.¡¯


    He stared at her without comprehension. She met his gaze. Perhaps she had intended to jab him with her words but as he looked at her, her face changed slowly. Finally she said, ¡®You don¡¯t know, do you?¡¯


    His mouth had gone dry at the look on her face. She didn¡¯t like him, so how could she feel so much horror and pity at his fate? He drew an uncertain breath. ¡®Will you tell me?¡¯


    For a moment, she bit her lower lip. Then she shrugged. ¡®My father has been ill for a very long time. Or so he says. Others, I think, would simply accept it as ageing. But he has done all he could to stave off death. Many a learned healer he has brought here and many rare cures he has consumed. But over the last few years, all efforts have failed him. Death beckons, but he will not answer its call. Instead, he threatens his healers and in turn, fearing death just as much as he does, they have told him that they cannot cure him unless he can procure for them the rarest of all ingredients for their medicines. Powdered dragon liver to purify his blood. Dragon blood mixed with ground dragon¡¯s teeth to make his own bones stop aching. The ichor from a dragon¡¯s eye to make his own eyesight clear again. The blood of a dragon, to make his own blood run hot and strong as a young man¡¯s.¡¯


    He shook his head at her. ¡®I don¡¯t even know where my dragon is right now. In the past three years, I have felt her mind brush mine only twice and never have I been able to reach out to her. She does not come at my call, and even if she did, she would not give up her own blood to save me. I feel sure she would be roused to killing fury at the thought of a man wishing to drink her blood or make medicine from her liver.¡¯ He shook his head more strongly. ¡®I am useless to him! He should ransom me and demand his healers find other cures for him.¡¯

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    She cocked her head and the pity in her eyes became unmistakable. ¡®You did not hear me out. He could not get his dragon¡¯s blood, but what my suitor gave him woke his curiosity. A small square of scaled flesh. Flesh cut from your shoulder, if I am not mistaken. Which he ate. And it made him feel better than he had in months. But not for long.¡¯


    Selden sat up. The room began a slow turn, rotating around him in a sickening way. He shut his eyes tightly, but it only became worse. He opened them again, swallowing against the vertigo. ¡®Are you sure?¡¯ he asked her hoarsely. ¡®He told you such a thing, that he ate my flesh?¡¯


    ¡®My father did not tell me, no. My suitor ¡­ Chancellor Ellik ¡­ bragged of it. When he ¡­ came to ¡­ tell me that you would be put in my care.¡¯ The smoothness had gone out of her speech. Her words hitched along and he sensed a terrible story behind them.


    Her eyes had gone distant and dark. He reached out to touch her arm. She gave a small shriek and leapt away from him. She stared at him wildly. ¡®What is it?¡¯ he demanded. ¡®Tell me what you know.¡¯


    She retreated from him, reached the covered window and halted there. He feared suddenly that she might fling the cover wide and throw herself through the window. Instead, she turned back to face him, a cornered animal, and flung the words at him as she might fling stones at hounds baying after her. ¡®He cannot have dragon¡¯s blood, so he will have yours! He will consume you, as he consumes every living being that comes near him. Consume and destroy, for his own dark ends!¡¯


    To hear her speak the words made the unthinkable something he must confront. A strange coldness filled him slowly, flowing out from his bones. When he spoke, his voice was higher than usual, as if air could not quite reach the bottom of his lungs. ¡®It won¡¯t work,¡¯ he said desperately. ¡®I am as human as you are. My dragon has changed me, but I am not a dragon. Drink my blood, eat my flesh, it will not matter. He will die just as surely as I will.¡¯


    Full knowledge of the fate the Duke intended for him penetrated his mind. He had not, at first, comprehended why they had taken a sample of his flesh and skin when he was being sold. He had thought then that it was to prove that he was scaled. The wound on his shoulder from that ¡®sample¡¯ still oozed through the clean bandaging the woman had applied to it. He had thought it was healing and left it alone, but the girl had abraded away the thick scab to reveal the festering infection beneath. He wrinkled his nose as he recalled how bad it had smelled.


    Even the meaning behind the Duke¡¯s words when he had first been brought before him had slipped past Selden¡¯s cognizance. But this woman who had been entrusted with his care seemed determined to make him confront it. She studied him from across the room, then, as abruptly as she had taken flight, she calmed. Her voice was low as she crossed the room to sit by his couch. ¡®The Duke knows that your flesh and blood will not serve him as well as a dragon¡¯s would. Knows it, and does not care. He will spend you ruthlessly, using you as a stopgap measure to keep himself alive until he can obtain the genuine cure.¡¯


    She tugged his blanket straight, her lips folded. Then spoke without hope. ¡®And so I must heal you of infection, and clean your body, and ply you with food and drink, just as if you were a cow being fattened for the slaughter. We are both his cattle, you see. Chattel to be used however it best suits him.¡¯


    He stared into her face, expecting to see anger or at least tears. But she looked wooden, her eyes fixed on a hopeless future. ¡®This is monstrous! How can you just accept what he does to me? To you?¡¯


    She gave a bitter laugh and slumped on the simple wooden stool and gestured around the little room. It was small and comfortably appointed, but the bars on the window and the stout door proclaimed what it was: a gilded cage. ¡®I am as much his captive as you are, and as human as you say you are, but it will make no difference to him. He will consume us both. I am the bribe that he offers Ellik in return for the Chancellor doing all he can to preserve my father¡¯s miserable life. It gives me a little comfort that you say that if he consumes you, your death will not buy him more life.¡¯ She looked down at her hands and confided hopelessly, ¡®Once, I had planned to outlive him and then to proclaim myself his rightful heir. All my brothers are dead, either at my father¡¯s hands or of the blood plague. And I am eldest of my sisters and the only one not wed away in trade. The throne should be mine upon his death.¡¯


    He looked at her incredulously. ¡®Would his nobles support you in such a claim?¡¯


    She shook her head. ¡®It was a silly dream. Those I attempted to rally to my cause are, ultimately, as powerless as I am. It was the fancy I concocted to give purpose and hope to my life. Now it¡¯s gone. I have no way left to reach out to those who also shared my ambition. Instead I shall comfort myself with the knowledge that he will not outlive me by much, if at all.¡¯

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    Selden furrowed his brow. ¡®But you are a young woman. Surely you shall outlive your father by many years.¡¯


    ¡®My father¡¯s daughter might have a long lifespan, but not Ellik¡¯s wife, I think. His last wife gave him heir sons for his own fortune and name. That was all he needed of her, and when he was finished with her, her life was finished, too. He needs but one son from me to establish a regency the other nobles will not challenge. I am sure that is why the mother of his sons died so suddenly; to make space for me.¡¯ She looked at him. ¡®I did not know her but I mourn her. His last woman has scarcely begun to rot in her grave, and Ellik is ready to begin on me. No. I will be consumed just as you are. But not, I am told, until I have restored you to health. So. To hasten our ends, you should eat.¡¯ Her tone became falsely light, a mockery of the tragedy in her eyes.


    She rose and brought a little table to his bedside. On it was a tray with a large covered dish set beside two smaller ones. She lifted the lid on the large dish. Selden stared at a mound of raw meat cut into chunks. An inadvertent sound of disgust welled from his throat. She stared at him. ¡®Are you not hungry?¡¯


    ¡®If it were cooked,¡¯ he said faintly. At the prospect of food, his mouth had begun to water, but the bloody red chunks of flesh only reminded him of his ultimate fate. He turned away, swallowing. His wakened hunger was making him nauseous.


    ¡®I can remedy that,¡¯ she said, and for the first time, her voice seemed free of bitterness. ¡®I can toast it over the hearth here, and will welcome whatever you leave. My father does not think it fitting that women consume flesh. This is my provender.¡¯ She uncovered the two smaller dishes. One held grain porridge with a generous pat of butter still melting in the centre of it, and the other a heap of boiled vegetables in an orange, yellow and green heap. At the sight of them, Selden¡¯s stomach growled loudly. The homely smell of stewed turnips, carrots and cabbage almost brought tears to his eyes.


    Chassim was silent for a moment. ¡®If we share all, there is enough for both of us to dine well.¡¯ Her voice was hesitant, her eyes downcast.


    ¡®Please,¡¯ he begged, and something in that simple word woke the first shadow of a smile he had seen on her face.


    ¡®Please,¡¯ she said softly to herself, as if the word were foreign to her. ¡®Yes. And with thanks.¡¯


    Day the 28th of the Fish Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Sealia Finbok, wife of Trader Finbok


    To Hest Finbok, beloved Son


    A message to be held for him at the Trehaug Traders¡¯ Concourse.


    My dear boy, you left Bingtown with scarcely a word to us! I do not even know where you lodge in Trehaug. Still, I need you to know that your father is quite angry to learn that Trader Redding¡¯s son accompanied you. He says that he expressly forbade you to take a companion with you, something that I regard as quite ridiculous. How could anyone tolerate an extended journey to a place as backward as the Rain Wilds without a cultured and witty fellow to help pass the tedium? To calm his wrath, I told him a bit of a story, that is, that I insisted you take Redding with you as I was concerned for your safety, travelling alone in such an uncivilized place. So, when you return, you must agree with my story when your father asks you.


    Most Important! Lissy Sebastipan has broken her engagement to Trader Porty¡¯s son Ismus! She discovered that he had a bastard daughter with a girl from a Three Ships family. The whole town has been buzzing, for their wedding was to have been the social event of the year. I am in an agony of sympathy for Lissy¡¯s mother, yet at the same time, I confess that I do see a wonderful opportunity here for you! I am sure you take my meaning!


    Please do not waste too much time on what I perceive as a useless mission. Come home, annul your contract for abandonment, forget that eccentric and ungrateful woman and let me find you a faithful and appropriate wife.


    Should you have time to do any trading, I have heard that some absolutely amazing deep-purple flame jewels have recently been unearthed. Do look into this rumour, and feel free to use the family credit if they prove worthy of purchase.


    With all affection, and the desire that you use your travel time to revive your poor broken spirit and renew your enjoyment of life,


    Your loving Mother


    CHAPTER EIGHT


    City of Elderlings


    ¡®Alise! Alise, are you in there?¡¯ Alise straightened up slowly. She had been hunched over a table-top inlaid with very detailed illustrations of dragon anatomy. She now realized she had been hearing shouts in the distance for some time, but had blocked them from her mind, assuming they were only the city¡¯s memories trying to invade her. Most often the city¡¯s whispers were a distraction. Today, cleaning and studying the diagrams, the whispers had been informative. She prayed she might never need to know how to remove a broken tooth from a dragon¡¯s jaw, but valued the knowledge all the same.

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    ¡®I¡¯m here,¡¯ she called, wondering who needed her for what now. The interruptions always seemed to come when she was in the most interesting part of something, and for what? So that she could identify a stove part or something that someone had found. Earlier in the week, it had been Rapskal with an armful of very large buckles set with sparkling stones. ¡®I know these are important,¡¯ he had said without preamble. ¡®I know that I know what they are, but when I reach for the memory, it slides away. It isn¡¯t something I used to deal with directly, but I know that someone did it for me and it was important to me and my dragon.¡¯ He had taken a breath and added mournfully, ¡®I found them in a pile of rubble behind my house. Something bad happened there, Alise. I know it.¡¯


    She¡¯d looked at him dispassionately. He would never be her favourite person, but seemed artlessly unaware of how devastating his comments had been to her. He was the one who had pointed out that she was not an Elderling and never would be. He was the one who had told her that she had no say over what they did with the city, that the city belonged to the new Elderlings, not her. True as those statements had been, they had still devastated her and turned her life upside down. She¡¯d had to change her image of herself from the very bones out. Ultimately, she knew, it had been good for her. That did not mean she enjoyed being reminded of it.


    ¡®You never touched one of these before today,¡¯ she pointed out to him. ¡®But you may have sampled the memories of someone who did.¡¯ An understatement if there was one. All knew how obsessed Rapskal was becoming with his ¡®other¡¯ self¡¯s memories. She took one of the buckles from him and turned it slowly in her hands. ¡®It¡¯s from a dragon¡¯s harness. Not for battle armour but for show. Perhaps as part of a victory parade or other celebration¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Battle harness?¡¯ he had interrupted her. ¡®Battle harness? YES! Yes, that¡¯s it, that¡¯s what this reminded me of. But ¡­ but ¡­¡¯ Mouth slightly ajar, his eyes went distant and the light went out of his face. ¡®I don¡¯t remember all of it. I should, but I don¡¯t know ¡­¡¯


    ¡®Go to the Hall of Records, the building with the map tower. Climb up, oh; I think it was on the third storey. There are many wall decorations there that you can study to see how the harness was made and fitted.¡¯


    ¡®Yes. Yes, now I remember. Heroes were honoured there. Valiant men and dragons of great battle prowess ¡­¡¯ Absently, he took the buckle from her hands. Clutching it to his chest, he¡¯d left her standing without even a thank you as he hurried off to try to recover a piece of a self he¡¯d never been. She sighed. Leftrin had warned them all, but nothing she could say now would dissuade any of them. Lingering too long in memory-stone was dangerous.


    And exciting.


    She might not be an Elderling but privately she still believed she was the one best suited to extract the city¡¯s secrets. The knowledge she had gleaned from her studies prepared and anchored her. It was not so foreign to her, and yet she could hold tight to her humanity and not be swept away. Still, it was frightening to let her own life and thoughts be swept aside in the stream of memories stored in the city¡¯s stones. She had learned a new discipline in this city. When she ventured into her memory sampling, it was for a specific purpose and she kept her attention tightly focused on what she wanted to know, refusing all other tugs at her attention. It was like diving into deep cold water to retrieve a sparkling stone.


    ¡®Alise!¡¯


    The voice came again and she recognized it as Sylve¡¯s. Before she could respond, the keeper called once more, ¡®Alise? Are you in here? Tarman¡¯s coming. They¡¯re back!¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m back here, Sylve!¡¯ Then the meaning of the girl¡¯s shout penetrated her distracted mind. Tarman had been sighted. Leftrin! He was back! And she was on the wrong side of the river. He¡¯d be expecting to find everyone at the village site, not in the city. She leapt to her feet, dragon dentistry discarded. Leftrin was coming, and she looked a fright! She hurried to the door of the chamber and peered out into the tall, wide corridor. ¡®Where¡¯s Heeby?¡¯ she demanded as Sylve came barrelling toward her. Behind the girl, the tall double doors stood open to the gusty wind of the spring day. Alise hoped the little dragon and her keeper would carry a message to the ship for her.


    ¡®She and Rapskal are guiding Tarman in! Carson says he thinks our dock will hold, but not be very good for unloading yet. He¡¯s worried about it, but I think it will be a good test of what we built.¡¯


    ¡®Tarman is coming directly here?¡¯ She had even less time to prepare for him.

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    ¡®Yes! We sighted them coming on the river, not long after the dragons had their quarrel.¡¯


    ¡®Dragon quarrel?¡¯ Alise interrupted in alarm. ¡®Was anyone hurt?¡¯ She must have been tightly focused on the city to have remained unaware of that!


    ¡®No, no injuries among the keepers. It happened in the air, downriver. We couldn¡¯t see much of it, but we did see Mercor give Spit a good tumble. But Spit rose again, so he couldn¡¯t have been much hurt, and then the whole flock of dragons moved farther away down the river. So we still don¡¯t know what that was about. But shortly after that, we spotted Tarman!¡¯


    Alise¡¯s hands flew to her hair. Then she laughed at the instinctive gesture of a Bingtown woman. It would be silly to fuss over her appearance. Leftrin knew the conditions she¡¯d been living under! Well, at least he would find her in better circumstances than when he had left. Since the keepers had moved across the river and into Kelsingra, they were all cleaner and better groomed. Nonetheless, she found herself pulling the precious few pins she still possessed from her hair and letting it down. She shook it out as she hurried after Sylve. Her hands moved as she strode along, smoothing the stubborn red ringlets, re-braiding it, and then pinning it back up. She wondered what it looked like and then discovered that, truly, she didn¡¯t care. And if Leftrin did, well, then he wasn¡¯t the man she thought he was. She found herself smiling confidently. He wouldn¡¯t care.


    ¡®I wonder what upset the dragons. Was it the beginning of a mating battle?¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t think so. Didn¡¯t you hear them? There was a lot of trumpeting from Spit, and then the others came to see what he wanted. That was what caught Carson¡¯s eye, all the dragons converging. At least six of them went to Spit, in a big circling swarm. Then I saw Mercor clash with him! Why, we don¡¯t know and they haven¡¯t been paying much attention to us since then. But Mercor went up under him as Spit was diving down and then he just tipped Spit off sideways. We saw him fall and then the trees were in the way and everyone was terrified that he would land in the river. Well, except a few of us who were rather hoping the little beast would get a good cold dunking. But then we saw him come up again. I still have no idea what it was about.¡¯


    Her voice dropped on her last words and Alise heard the hurt in it that Mercor had not spoken to her since the fray. Since the dragons had become capable of feeding themselves, they had taken little interest in their keepers. Of course, any dragon might still summon a keeper at a moment¡¯s notice for special grooming, but few of them made daily contact with the young Elderlings. Some of the keepers seemed as affronted as snubbed lovers over this. Others, like Sylve, were sad but resigned to their loneliness. She and Boxter seemed to take the abandonment the hardest. Some of the others, notably Jerd and Davvie, seemed relieved to be free of their demanding dragons. Last night, as the keepers had shared a sparse dinner in the back room of the dragon baths, Sylve had bravely spoken the truth that the others preferred to ignore.


    ¡®Nothing¡¯s changed, really. They feel about us as they always have. From the beginning, they were honest. They wanted to get away from Cassarick and become dragons again. They tolerated us because they needed us.¡¯


    The keepers gathered around the ancient table had grown still, food forgotten.


    ¡®And now they don¡¯t. So, they tolerate us still, but they prefer their own kind. Or they prefer their solitude.¡¯


    She was right, but it had not lifted the gloom that had fallen over the company since the dragons had achieved flight. Alise could sympathize. She recalled how heady it had been to be the subject of Sintara¡¯s attention. And when the dragon had taken the trouble to cast her glamour over her? She smiled and swayed slightly at the thought of it. It had been all-encompassing. The delight and joy of being the object of a dragon¡¯s attention had been surpassed only by the giddiness of her infatuation with Leftrin, and then the swirl of excitement at realizing he reciprocated her admiration. Now that was something no one ever got from a dragon!


    When she had first met the blue queen, she had felt light-headed each time the dragon deigned to speak to her. She had been willing to do anything, any task, no matter how menial, to keep that regard. She had felt such a sense of loss when the dragon had recognized that Thymara was a better provider and had chosen the girl over her. If Leftrin had not been there to cushion the blow, she probably would have been devastated to lose Sintara¡¯s regard. She smiled now as she thought how well he had distracted her.


    In the days since the dragons had stopped paying attention to their keepers, some of them seemed to have chosen similar distractions for themselves. She had watched, uncomfortably, as Thymara swung between Rapskal and Tats. She pitied all three of them; yet at the same time, she reflected that each of the young men knew of his rival. Thymara did not deceive them as Alise had been deceived. Thymara respected her suitors and struggled to treat them well.

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    Jerd had plunged herself into yet another torrid romance; Alise did not know which keeper she had chosen this time, and wondered wearily if it truly mattered.


    It was strange to watch Davvie and Lecter be so absorbed in each other. In Bingtown, it would have been a scandal for two young men to be so openly passionate about one another. Here, their relationship was accepted by their fellow keepers, much as they accepted that Sedric and Carson were partnered. Perhaps once one realized how deeply one could bond with a creature as foreign as a dragon, all forms of human love seemed more acceptable. The two young keepers could often be seen wandering the town together. Their laughter at the smallest shared joke made others smile, while their tempestuous quarrels, it sometimes seemed to Alise, were only because both of them so enjoyed the drama of parting and the relief of coming together again.


    Others of the keepers, such as Harrikin, had immersed themselves in hunting. Tats seemed as fascinated by the engin-eering of the city as Carson was. A few, such as Nortel and Jerd, had become devoted treasure-seekers; while Rapskal spent his free time, when he was not trailing after Thymara, in a different sort of exploration of the city. Since he had asked her about the buckles, he spoke often of weaponry and techniques of fighting and how the city had once defended itself from the dragons of another city. It frightened and alarmed her to hear that once there had been such rivalries among Elderling cities and the dragons that inhabited them, but when she asked what was at the base of their quarrel, Rapskal had gone silent and looked confused. It worried her.


    Alise and Sylve emerged into the streets; the fresh spring wind bludgeoned them, whipping Alise¡¯s freshly confined hair out into wild red strands. She laughed aloud, and reached up to salvage the last of her pins before they could be scattered. Her hair flounced free onto her shoulders. So be it.


    ¡®Hurry!¡¯ Sylve called over her shoulder, and broke into a run.


    Alise broke into a dogged trot but the Elderling girl ran effortlessly away from her. Sylve had shot up taller than Alise and her face was beginning to be that of a woman rather than a child, but she had growing still to do, and not just her body. Alise was glad that Harrikin apparently had the patience to wait for her. The girl obviously enjoyed his company, and all spoke of them as a couple, but Alise had seen no indication that he had attempted to gain more than her promise from her. They walked hand in hand sometimes, and she had witnessed a few stolen kisses, but he was not pressing her. For now, he was her true friend, and Alise did not doubt that in time he would win all that he sought.


    As Leftrin had.


    The thought warmed her suddenly and she abandoned her reserved jog, stretching her legs into a run and astounding herself and Sylve by catching up with the girl. They glanced at one another, windblown hair netting their faces, and then both burst into laughter. The final hill before the run down to the docks fell away before them, and they both raced down it.


    Leftrin risked one backwards glance. The gyre of dragons had dispersed or perhaps they had descended below the tree-line to harry the hapless Bingtown ship. He felt sorry for that crew but knew he could do nothing for them. The dragons would probably be content with just chasing the boat away, and good riddance to it. Surely the dragons could not have changed so much as to casually slaughter humans? Could they?


    He pushed that thought out of his mind and focused on the problems that he could do something about. He had some very immediate worries. Tarman was struggling as he approached the Kelsingra docks. The steady current pushed the barge on relentlessly. The water that swept past the city was deep and swift, eating away at the bank and the structures on it. Obviously, it had been doing so for a number of winters. In some stretches, the current foamed and crashed over the stony bones of recently conquered masonry. Leftrin gritted his teeth at the sight and refused to imagine Tarman suddenly slammed against it by a trick of the current.


    As the ship approached the heart of the city¡¯s waterfront, Leftrin could see that the keepers had attempted to rebuild the dock. Rough logs had been roped or pegged to the standing-stone pilings that were all that remained of the ancient docks. It did not look very sturdy and he questioned his wisdom in listening to Rapskal. Right after they had witnessed the dragon attack on the boat, Heeby had flown over them, Rapskal on her back. The keeper had shouted down to them, over and over, to come to Kelsingra, not the village. When Swarge had waved that he understood the message, the dragon and boy had flown off. It had taken the combined efforts of Tarman and the full crew to battle their way across the river and work their way along a shore where the water ran deep and swift. The village side of the river had offered slower and more shallow water, and a wide and sandy bank for the ship to wedge itself against. Here, they had only the makeshift new dock and a strong deep current pushing against them. Leftrin was aware of how stubbornly his liveship paddled against that rush, how his hidden tail thrashed as his crew pulled valiantly at their oars, steering him toward the dock.

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    The keepers had come down to greet them. Wisely, most of them remained on the shore. Carson was on the dock, ready to catch a line as soon as it was thrown to him. Harrikin was with him, and, to Leftrin¡¯s amazement, so was Sedric, looking more muscular and fit than when Leftrin had last seen him. Harrikin and Sedric were clad in bright clothing, as were the rest of the keepers; evidently the city had yielded up a bit of its treasure to them. His brow furrowed as he wondered how Alise felt about that.


    The tethered logs of the dock moved with the current, rising and falling steadily. On the crumbling street behind the docks, the other keepers were massed. Much as he longed to scan that crowd for Alise¡¯s face, he knew that his ship required all his attention just now. He kept his place on top of the deckhouse, bellowing course corrections as Tarman fought the seething current as they moved toward the dock and pushed steadily upstream until they were past it.


    ¡®Drop anchor!¡¯ Hennesey roared and Big Eider obeyed, deploying a kedge anchor first on the port side and then another on the starboard side of the barge. Chain and then line played out swiftly as the crew continued to fight the current. Then the anchors caught and the liveship curtseyed to the water as the lines took the ship¡¯s weight. A moment later, there was a lurch as the port anchor dragged a short distance before lodging firmly on the bottom.


    ¡®Even them out!¡¯ Leftrin bellowed to Hennesey, but the mate was already in motion, assisting Big Eider in that very task. As the ship came into alignment, they began the careful process of paying out line to let the current carry them downstream to a position parallel to the docks.


    Leftrin prayed there were no concealed pilings from the old dock hiding beneath the river¡¯s rush. The space between Tarman and the dock narrowed and still the ship¡¯s unseen legs and tail fought to gain a place alongside the dock and hold there. Plainly, Tarman did not trust the kedge anchors completely. It made the task of docking him more difficult, but Leftrin allowed the liveship to follow his own instincts. Finally, they were close enough for lines to be flung. Sedric caught the first one and quickly wrapped it around one of the few remaining stone supports from the fallen dock. Carson caught the next, and quickly wrapped it around a wooden upright. It groaned, swayed slightly and then held. Other lines were tossed, caught, and tied. As soon as Tarman was somewhat secured, longer lines were run out, past the dock and up onto dry land. With a fine disrespect for the city¡¯s antiquity, one was tied off around an Elderling statue, while another was taken in through the window of a small stone structure and then out of the door before being made fast. It was a sloppy tie-up, as if an immense spider had trapped the liveship in a web. Leftrin waited, but the lines held. He breathed out.


    ¡®It will do for now,¡¯ he told Hennesey. ¡®But I don¡¯t like it and neither does Tarman. I want you or me on board at all times, and I don¡¯t want the crew to go far. At least three hands on board at every moment. Once we get off-loaded, then we¡¯ll head back across the river and beach Tarman there. Jaunting back and forth in the ship¡¯s boats from the village to Kelsingra won¡¯t be fun but at least he¡¯ll be safe there.¡¯


    Hennesey nodded grimly.


    ¡®Let¡¯s unload right away, then,¡¯ said Leftrin. ¡®As soon as we see our passengers safely ashore. Get it started. I want a word with the ship.¡¯


    Hennesey jerked his head in a nod and was gone. In a moment, he was shouting the orders that would get the cargo moving onto the deck for off-loading. A chorus of greetings rose from the waiting crowd on shore. Leftrin gave a single wave as he made his way forward. He saw Hennesey leaning over the side, exchanging words with Carson. The big hunter could move with alacrity when he needed to, and as if by magic, the keepers were suddenly lining up like ants as they readied themselves to act as stevedores. Big Eider was personally assisting Malta across the deck and down onto the wobbly dock. She clutched her baby, refusing to surrender him to anyone, while Reyn followed closely behind her, looking anxious. Leftrin noticed that Hennesey was waiting to perform the same service for Tillamon. He folded his lips, and then decided that it was up to Reyn to intervene if he thought anything improper was going on. And perhaps not even Reyn, given that Tillamon was a woman grown.


    He reached the foredeck and leaned on the wizardwood railing. ¡®Ship. You going to talk to me?¡¯


    He felt the familiar thrumming of a liveship¡¯s awareness. Tarman was eldest of the liveships, built long before anyone had any idea that wizardwood was anything other than finely grained and excellent-quality timber. He¡¯d been built as a barge, with the traditional painted eyes for watching the river¡¯s current, but no figurehead such as the other liveships boasted. While his ¡®painted¡¯ eyes had become ever more expressive over the years, he had no carved mouth with which to speak. Usually Leftrin shared his ship¡¯s feelings on an intuitive level, or when Tarman intruded directly into his dreams. Only rarely did the captain have the sensation that the ship was speaking to him in actual words. He had always respected however little or much Tarman chose to share with him. Only rarely, when he felt there was a direct threat to his vessel, did he make such a request. Now he leaned on the railing and waited, hoping.

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


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


    Not yet.


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


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


    Not yet. The child is not yet safe.


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


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


    If they can? Leftrin didn¡¯t like the feel of that thought. He had believed that bringing the baby here for one of the dragons to treat would solve everything. Persuading a dragon to take it on had been the only obstacle he had foreseen. Do you think all the dragons will refuse us?


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


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


    And our thanks to you, Tarman.


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


    That brought a tiny nudge from Tarman.


    I am the best. Eldest, wisest, best.


    Of course you are. I¡¯ve always known that.


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


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


    ¡®Any open door,¡¯ Alise Finbok affirmed. ¡®If a keeper has already claimed a room, then the door is closed. And most of them were long ago locked by their previous owners and we haven¡¯t found any way to open them. I¡¯d suggest one of those last three at the end of the hall. They are larger with several chambers and beds. We think that perhaps they were for visiting delegations from other cities. Of course, we have no basis for that theory, other than it was the only one any of us could imagine.¡¯


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

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    Alise had been so kind as to hold the wailing Phron while Malta bathed and washed her hair. He was quiet now in her arms, but Malta could feel that his little body was slack with weariness, not sleepy and content. He had cried himself out in Alise¡¯s arms and come back to his mother as limp as a rag doll. He had seemed to be asleep when she had gently lowered his little body into the water. But his eyes had opened at its embrace, and she had been pleased to see him stretch out in the steaming bath and wave his little arms and legs about in it. He had patted the water¡¯s surface and looked first startled and then pleased at the splashes he made. She had smiled to see him behave so much like an ordinary child. But as the coloured scales on his body had flushed and then deepened in hue, she had known a wave of uneasiness. ¡®Something is happening to him!¡¯


    ¡®That happened to the keepers, too,¡¯ Alise had assured her. She had waited at the edge of the immense tub, a drying cloth open and ready to receive the baby. Malta had smiled up at her. The Bingtown woman had not changed nearly as much as the other members of the expedition. It took a discerning eye to notice the scaling behind her eyebrows and on the backs of her hands. Her words still held the intonation of the scholar. ¡®The hot water made the dragons grow quite a bit and seemed to ease their aching. We could literally see the colours spreading on their wings and then deepening. They stretched, and their bodies seemed to take on a new alignment. And they grew, some startlingly. Tinder went from pale lavender to a deep purple with gold tracery. Spit had always had a rather stubby tail. Now it seems the appropriate length for his body. After a day or two of access to the water and warmth, almost all the dragons could take flight from the ground. And now, of course, they all can. The keepers experienced similar changes: brighter colours, lengthening limbs. Thymara¡¯s wings are astonishing now.¡¯


    ¡®Wings?¡¯


    The older woman nodded. ¡®Wings. And Sylve may be growing a crest on her brow.¡¯


    ¡®Did I change?¡¯ Malta had asked her immediately.


    ¡®Well, you seem to shimmer more brightly to me. But perhaps that is a question better asked of your husband, who knows best how you usually look.¡¯


    Politeness ruled Alise. She would not say what Malta knew was true. She had been so unkempt from her constant vigilance over little Ephron during the journey that Alise could not tell if the changes in her scaling were merely that she was clean now, or if her dragon characteristics had advanced. Malta found she didn¡¯t care and smiled wearily. Look what it had taken to erode girlish vanity, she thought to herself. Merely threaten my son¡¯s life and none of it mattered any more.


    She looked down into his little face. He was silent but not asleep. His face did not look like the face of any baby she had ever seen before. His little mouth was pinched up as if he were in pain, and his breath whispered through his narrow nostrils. She tried to see him impartially; was he an ugly child, doomed to be rejected by other children as he grew? She had found she could not tell. He was Ephron, her little boy, and his differences were part of who he was, not points to be compared with others. With a forefinger, Malta had traced the fine scaling that outlined his brows, and he closed his eyes. She had handed him to Alise who wrapped him in the waiting towel, while she waded wearily out of the water.


    Her skin had dried quickly in the warm chamber, and Alise had supplied her with an Elderling gown of shimmering pink. The gleaming colour reminded Malta of the inside of a conch shell. At another time, she would have longed to see herself in a mirror, to admire the supple fall of the soft fabric. But at the pool¡¯s edge all she had wanted was her child back in her arms.


    Now she stared numbly down the hall of closed and opened doors. Choices, some she might make and others closed forever to her. How did one ever know how one small choice might forever change the course of one¡¯s life?


    ¡®Let me show you a chamber I think you¡¯ll like and settle you there for the night. In the morning, after you¡¯ve rested, if you don¡¯t like it, you can change it.¡¯


    Malta realized that she hadn¡¯t moved nor spoken in several minutes. Had she fallen asleep standing up? ¡®Please,¡¯ she said faintly, and did not mind when Alise took her arm and guided her down the hall. It was a relief to be away from the keepers¡¯ noisy and joyous welcome. When they had introduced themselves, several had seemed stunned. ¡®The King and the Queen of the Elderlings!¡¯ someone had whispered.


    Malta had shaken her head, but it had not seemed to affect their awe. They had pelted them with hundreds of questions and Reyn, knowing her exhaustion, had tried to answer them. The girls had seemed entranced by her baby and even the boys had come to look on him in amazement.

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    ¡®Like Greft,¡¯ one of them had exclaimed as he stared at her boy. A taller keeper on the verge of manhood had bade him hush and pulled the scarlet-scaled boy aside. Reyn had read her anguished look and drawn the keepers off, while suggesting strongly that Alise help her find a place to bathe and rest. Now here she was, barely able to make sense of things as the evening drew to a close. She had come all this way, hoping to be greeted by dragons. None had appeared. Now all she wanted was Reyn back, wanted her little family close at hand again.


    At the end of the hall Alise escorted her through a door that swung wide at her touch. The room had been dark but it lit as they entered, gaining sourceless light slowly until a warm glow suffused the room. There was no hearth, Malta noticed with dismay, and almost as if Alise heard her, she said, ¡®The rooms stay comfortably warm. We don¡¯t know how. The chairs and the beds soften as you sit on them, and we don¡¯t know how that works either. There is still so much to learn about Kelsingra. There is no bedding either. Perhaps the Elderlings had no need for it when the rooms stayed warm. Some of the closets had clothing in them, and a few of the shelves and cupboards held personal items. Some things were of obvious use, such as brushes and necklaces, and others we didn¡¯t understand at all. I¡¯ve urged all the keepers to leave non-essential items in place until we can learn more. But,¡¯ a small sigh, ¡®they do not listen to me very well. Jerd is the worst, treasure-hunting from building to building and amassing more jewellery than one woman could wear in a lifetime, with no thought as to where it came from or who wore it before her. Goblets made of gold, as if we had wine worthy of them. A mirror that shows what it should have reflected the moment before, so she can examine the back of her head. And useful items as well. A pot that warms whatever is put into it. Stockings with sturdy soles that adjust to the wearer¡¯s foot ¡­ Oh. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m chattering away while you stand there. Come. This room only has a table and chairs, as if for a gathering of people, as you can see. But here is a bedchamber, and those other two doors also go to bedchambers. As soon as you sit down on one of the beds, it will start to soften to your form.¡¯


    Malta nodded dumbly. ¡®Reyn?¡¯ she asked wearily, and Alise promised, ¡®I¡¯ll see that he knows where you are. You are exhausted, my dear. Go to bed right away, for the sake of your child, if not yourself.¡¯


    Alise patted the bed and Malta carefully set Phron down on it. He squirmed and with a sinking heart, she knew he was going to wail again. Then, as the bed softened around his tiny form, his cross expression eased. As she watched him, his eyes sagged slowly closed. Reflexively, she leaned down, putting her cheek and ear near to his face, to assure herself he was breathing. She so wanted to follow him into slumber, but not yet. Not yet. A sad smile twisted her mouth as she recalled how her own mother had always seen to her children¡¯s needs before she allowed herself to rest.


    ¡®His things,¡¯ she said, turning to Alise. ¡®Will my trunks be brought here? There is a blue case that has all Phron¡¯s things in it, his extra napkins, his little robes and soft blankets ¡­¡¯ She let her voice trail away as she wondered what was wrong with her, to be so stupid as to leave such things behind. She could not seem to focus her thoughts; her mind seemed to buzz with a thousand half-remembered ideas ¡­


    ¡®Malta!¡¯ Alise¡¯s voice was almost sharp and the Bingtown woman gave her elbow a gentle shake. ¡®This city is full of Elderling memories. This building does not seem to be as heavy with them as some, but still, it is easy to let your mind drift here and lose track of what you were thinking and doing. Will you be all right sleeping here tonight? Do you think you should return to the ship?¡¯


    The moment Alise mentioned it, Malta recognized it for what it was. Memory-stone, full of stored lives and thoughts. She squinted her eyes tight and opened them again. ¡®I¡¯ll be fine, now that I¡¯m aware of it. I¡¯ve been around it before. The first time was when I went into the buried part of Trehaug, to try to find Tintaglia and plead with her to leave Reyn alone.¡¯


    Alise looked intrigued and Malta had to smile. ¡®It¡¯s a long tale, but if you wish, I¡¯ll tell it to you. But not now. I¡¯m exhausted.¡¯


    ¡®Of course you are. And I heard Tarman¡¯s crew say that everything on board would be off-loaded tonight so that they could move him to a safer place across the river. I¡¯ll go and make sure your things are brought here. Now. Before I leave, is there anything else you need?¡¯


    ¡®Only Reyn,¡¯ Malta replied honestly.


    Alise laughed, the sort of laugh that women share. ¡®Of course. It was so clever of him to keep the keepers occupied. All of them are buzzing with curiosity about why you are here and all you can teach them of Elderling ways. The King and the Queen of the Elderlings. Did you ever think those titles would come to mean so much? For here, they do. I heard the youngsters talking.¡¯

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    Malta stared at her. Alise smiled and spoke more softly. ¡®They think you¡¯ve come to lead them. To use your power and stature to establish Kelsingra. I heard Rapskal say, ¡°They will call us the Dragon Traders, and we will stand on an even footing with Bingtown or the Pirate Isles or even Jamaillia. They¡¯ll respect us now that our king and queen are here.¡±¡¯ Alise dropped her voice. ¡®I know it isn¡¯t why you came. But you need to know that. Every word you speak here carries weight with these young Elderlings. They¡¯ll be gathered around Reyn now, hanging on his every word. But I¡¯ll free him from them and send him up to you. And I¡¯ll let them know that their queen wishes her trunks delivered tonight. And it will happen.¡¯


    ¡®Alise, I can¡¯t deal with this,¡¯ Malta replied feebly. ¡®I never thought ¡­¡¯ Words failed her. Useless things. She was so tired. Stupidly tired. She¡¯d forgotten all about Tillamon. ¡®Reyn¡¯s sister ¡­ will you help her find us here? She must be as tired as I am, and I just left her there at the docks. So rude, but I¡¯m just so tired.¡¯


    Alise looked a bit surprised. ¡®Well, I thought Tillamon said that she wanted to stay on board Tarman tonight, and help take him across to the village tomorrow. But if you wish, I¡¯ll ask after her.¡¯


    ¡®Sleep aboard Tarman? Well, as she wishes. I thought she might want to join us here where things are so comfortable. But perhaps the memory-noise would bother her.¡¯ Malta was suddenly too tired to think about it any more. ¡®Please, just ask Reyn to come up. And goodnight to you, and many, many thanks for your welcome here.¡¯


    ¡®Goodnight. And by tomorrow morning, I am sure we can persuade one of the dragons to speak to you. I¡¯ll ask every keeper to summon his dragon, to speak with the King and Queen of the Elderlings. Surely one will be able to help your babe.¡¯


    King and Queen. It made her ridiculously sad. The dreams of Malta the girl might come true even as the longings of Phron¡¯s mother were destroyed. She had no words for it. ¡®Alise, you have been too kind. I have been thoughtless ¡­¡¯


    ¡®You are just tired,¡¯ Alise replied firmly, with a smile. ¡®Get some rest. I¡¯ll free Reyn from the keepers and send him up.¡¯


    Alise slipped from the room, pulling the door closed quietly behind her. It was a relief to let the false smile fade from her face. Tragedy. She had never seen such a bony baby. And despite what the keepers said, Malta the Elderling Queen was gone, replaced by a grieving mother with a lined face. The hot water had brightened her scale colours, but her once-golden hair reminded Alise of the dead straw after harvest, and her hands were claw-like. Beauty had fled before life¡¯s harshness. She wondered if it would ever return.


    She hurried down the hall and then down the spiralling stair. The dragon baths, with its hot water and comfortable lodgings, were a popular gathering place for the keepers. At the back of the entry hall, behind the stairs, a door led to a gathering space. A long table and chairs and benches that became comfortable after one sat on them filled that room. Beyond it, there was a kitchen area. It illuminated when one entered, and the cupboards and work-tables reminded Alise of the cooking space in many a Bingtown mansion. But there was no hearth, only stone ovens and several mysterious work-benches. There was a large basin with a drain in it, and a mechanism that possibly should have furnished water, but no one had deduced how to make it work.


    So cooking took place in an alley behind the building. It had pained her heart to see the keepers build a large hearth of rubble where they cooked game meat on spits over driftwood hauled up from the riverbank. She knew it was a necessity, but the mess it created in the formerly pristine city shamed her. In this, Rapskal was right. There was a way to use this city, and the sooner they learned it, the better for both city and keepers. For now, she felt as if she were part of a barbarian invasion rather than a group of settlers reclaiming a beautiful place.


    She opened the door to conversation and the smell of cooked food and almost swooned when she smelled hot tea. She had not tasted tea for months! And bread, there were rounds of hard bread in baskets on the table. It seemed no less than a miracle. She made her way to the table, past a jumble of stacked crates and barrels, the foodstuffs unloaded from Tarman. With relief, she saw a number of large trunks and cases that probably belonged to Malta.


    She went to where Reyn sat at the head of the long table. Six keepers clustered about him, and Lecter was telling the tale of how they had treated the dragons for rasp snakes on their way to Kelsingra. Reyn was leaning forward on the table, the picture of a rapt listener, or a very weary man who might otherwise collapse. Alise spoke crisply. ¡®Enough! It¡¯s time to let this man join his wife and child in some well-earned rest after such a journey. There will be plenty of time to exchange news and tales tomorrow.¡¯

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    ¡®After you summon the dragons for us,¡¯ Reyn ventured.


    The smiles around the table faded a bit. ¡®I¡¯ll try,¡¯ Sylve volunteered quickly. The others exchanged glances. Their thoughts were plain to Alise. Their King and Queen wished to speak with their dragons, but no one could promise the dragons would come.


    ¡®Let the poor man get some rest!¡¯ she insisted again, and Reyn seized the opportunity to stand up.


    The gathered keepers groaned at losing him. He gave them a weary smile. ¡®I would greatly welcome a bit of assistance with our trunks,¡¯ he said gently, and the response was overwhelming.


    Alise took the opportunity to slip out of the gathering. Her heart beat faster at the thought of her own reunion. She paused only to get her cloak and then hastened out of the door.


    It was raining yet she wasn¡¯t cold. She pulled up the hood of her midnight-blue Elderling cloak. It was spangled with yellow stars at the hem. Her feet and legs were warmly covered in Elderling garb as well. Sylve had been the one to bring it to her, telling her that everyone thought it ridiculous that she went clad in leaking boots and a ragged cloak while they walked in warmth and finery. ¡®But ¡­ I am not a true Elderling like the rest of you,¡¯ she had said. It was as close as she had come to admitting to anyone how much of an outsider she had become.


    Sylve had scowled, her scaled brow wrinkling, first in puzzlement and then in annoyance. ¡®Rapskal,¡¯ she sighed in disgust. ¡®Think of all the peculiar things that boy says, and then tell me why any of them should be taken seriously. Not an Elderling ¡­ Oh. I suppose that technically he was right. But only in that you have no dragon to demand ridiculous tasks on a moment¡¯s notice. Not that Sintara would hesitate to do so! But, Alise, please, you have come all this way with us, done so much for us. Without you, do you think we would be here? Would we ever have dared believe this place existed? Look. I chose these for you, the colours will suit you. I¡¯ve seen you wear the Elderling robe that Leftrin gave you, so why not dress as one of us?¡¯


    Alise had had no response to that. Not sure if she felt humbled or honoured, she had taken the garments from Sylve¡¯s hands. And worn them the next day.


    Now she pulled her Elderling cloak tighter around her as she strode through the windy streets and it was like wrapping herself in Sylve¡¯s friendship. Winter had loosened its harsh grip on the land, and the last few days had seemed almost spring-like, but every evening the chill settled again and wind swept through the city.


    The streets of Kelsingra were like the streets of no other city in the world. She hurried alone, the sole living figure on a thoroughfare wide enough for two dragons to pass one another. The buildings soared on either side of her, structure after structure with steps, porticos and entries scaled to dragons. Empty and dark, the broad streets still teemed with remembered Elderlings and occasional dragons, all bathed in an imaginary light. To that remembered illumination was added the light that spilled from the awakened city windows, now white, now golden, now a muted blue. A few of the larger buildings gently glowed in the darkness, acting as beacons within the city. She turned her face toward the waterfront.


    She had seen Leftrin from the shore, shouted a greeting to him, and saw on his face all that she longed to hear him say. He had glanced around, agonized by the conflict between duty and longing, and she had suddenly known that she did not want to be something that required that sort of decision. He had to think only of his ship now, not arrange to have her board and become a distraction.


    She remembered how the voice of Malta the Elderling had broken into her dilemma. ¡®Alise? Alise Finbok? Is that you?¡¯ She had felt startled and honoured that the Elderlings had seen fit to come to Kelsingra. Until she had seen the woman¡¯s haggard face and skeletal child, and then a very different emotion had filled her. She had glanced back only once at Leftrin as she had taken charge of them, and had been proud to see the relief on his face. She had lifted a hand, waved a reluctant farewell and seen him echo the gesture. And then she had left the docks to escort Malta, Reyn and their child to what comforts she could offer them.


    She and Leftrin had needed no words. Now there was a novelty; a man who assumed she knew what she was doing, and was willing to wait for her. A smile broke out on her face. She was willing to wait no longer.


    She crested one of Kelsingra¡¯s rolling hills and suddenly saw the riverbank scene before her as if it were a Jamaillian puppet play. The keepers had borrowed tethered light globes that graced some of the more elaborate gardens. The spheres gleamed golden and scarlet and their light ran away in spills across the streaming river water. She stood staring; never had she beheld anything like it. The yellow light bounced off Tarman¡¯s deck and then faded into a halo around the ship against the black night. Men still moved there as shadowed silhouettes. The crew called to one another as they worked, the sound carrying oddly over the water. She saw squat and bulky Swarge moving across the deck, graceful for a man of his size. A moment later, she realized she had become accustomed to the slender silhouettes of the keepers. Ordinary folk looked strange to her now.

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    A hastily rigged tripod lifted and swung crates from the ship¡¯s deck to the rudimentary dock where men grunted and swore as they caught them and guided them down. She spotted Carson¡¯s silhouette, and Lecter¡¯s, and then saw Sedric among those dragging the crates from the dock to the shore. That made her smile. Alum was there, working alongside Tats, and she suspected she knew why he had volunteered to stay and help with the last of the unloading. Once the crates were off the dock, they were loaded onto barrows and shuttled off to their temporary warehouse. The work proceeded in a steady, orderly fashion, the deck and shore crews moving in their concerted efforts as if in a careful dance.


    She caught sight of Thymara working alongside the men, and Nortel. There was Tats, shouting to Davvie to come lend a hand with the final crate he was struggling to shift. It came to her to wonder when a ship had last unloaded supplies for this city. What had this river port looked like in the days of the Elderlings? Too careless a thought. She knew a dizzying moment of double vision and saw a sprawling dock system and a score of vessels moored to it. Lights on tall poles streamed golden rays down on the broad-beamed brightly painted vessels, and all manner of people came and went on the wharves. Some were Elderling by their dress and tall silhouettes, but others seemed to be foreigners to these shores. They wore tall hats and were garbed in long furs. She blinked and then squinted her eyes, willing herself back to the present. The Elderlings faded and the ships became fog until only Tarman rode at anchor on the river¡¯s tugging current.


    ¡®And that¡¯s the last of it, boys!¡¯ Hennesey shouted as four netted casks landed with a thump on the dock. A ragged cheer went up from the crew and the keepers. ¡®Still got to get it all under cover, so don¡¯t think the work is all done yet!¡¯ the mate reminded them.


    Alise had to agree. It looked like so much cargo, crates and kegs stacked in rows in the street as the keepers struggled to move it to shelter. But when she thought of the long months that remained and all the work that must be done before the keepers could create their own food supplies, her heart sank. Food from Trehaug would still have to be managed carefully, and wild game and forest greens would remain the bulk of their diet.


    So much to do, such a long distance to go before the city would function as a real city. Kelsingra needed seed for crops, ploughs to break the meadow soil and horses to draw those ploughs. Most difficult of all was that the keepers would have to learn how to provide for themselves. Sons and daughters of hunters and gatherers, merchants and traders, former residents of a city that had never been able to feed itself, would they adapt to tilling fields and raising kine?


    And even if they did, were there enough of them to sustain it? The male-to-female ratio was worrisome and had been from the beginning.


    Resolutely, she pushed it all from her thoughts. Not tonight. Tonight was hers, finally. She reached the bottom of the hill and threaded her way through the crates and boxes and out onto the dock. ¡®Watch your step!¡¯ Carson cautioned her with a grin. ¡®We¡¯ve given these timbers a real test tonight, and some are starting to split. One of the hazards of building with green logs.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ll be careful,¡¯ she promised him.


    The emptied Tarman rode high, and the taut anchor lines hummed a quiet song of vigilance. She eyed the makeshift gangplank, steep and worn. No. She wouldn¡¯t ask for help. She started up it, her Elderling shoes surprisingly sure on the wet wood, but was scarcely three steps up before Leftrin came leaping down to her. Heedless of the treacherous surface, he seized her in a hug that lifted her off her feet. Close by her ear, his unshaven cheek prickling hers, he told her, ¡®I have missed you like I¡¯d miss air in my lungs. I can¡¯t leave you again. Just can¡¯t, my lady.¡¯


    ¡®You won¡¯t,¡¯ she promised him, and in the next gasped breath, demanded, ¡®Put me down before we both go overboard!¡¯


    ¡®Not a chance!¡¯ As casually as if she were a child, he swung her up into his arms and in two steps thudded her down on Tarman¡¯s deck. He set her on her feet but did not release her. His embrace warmed her as nothing else could. Perhaps her days in the Elderling city had sensitized her, but she felt Tarman¡¯s welcome of her as a warmth that flowed up from where her feet touched his deck to engulf her whole body.


    ¡®That¡¯s amazing,¡¯ she murmured into Leftrin¡¯s shoulder. She lifted her face slightly to ask him, ¡®How do I let him know that it¡¯s mutual?¡¯


    ¡®Oh, he knows, trust me. He knows it just as I know it.¡¯


    She could smell his scent. Not cologne such as Hest had often worn, but the scent of a man and the work he had done that day. His hands held her firmly against him; she surrendered to the rush of arousal that suffused her and turned her face up to his to be kissed.

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    ¡®Sir. Captain Leftrin.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ His bark was more demand than question. Alise turned her head to find Skelly stifling a grin. Her hair gleamed from being freshly brushed, and she had abandoned her trousers and tunic for a flowered skirt and a pale-yellow blouse and looked, Alise thought to herself, more like a girl than she ever had before.


    ¡®Everything is tidied away, and the mate says he has no more tasks for me. Permission to go ashore for the night, sir?¡¯


    Leftrin straightened. ¡®Skelly. As your captain, I¡¯ll grant you a night¡¯s leave. But you are to be back here by dawn¡¯s light, to help take Tarman across the water. Be late, and you won¡¯t see this city again for a month. Are we clear on that?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, sir. I¡¯ll be here, I promise.¡¯


    As she spun excitedly away, he cleared his throat. Skelly halted to look back at him.


    ¡®As your uncle, I¡¯ll remind you that we had no opportunity to speak to your parents or your fianc¨¦. They all still have assumptions about commitments from you. You are not free. Even if I thought it were wise to do so, I couldn¡¯t give you that sort of permission. You know what I¡¯m talking about. I¡¯m responsible for you. But even more so, you are responsible for yourself. Don¡¯t risk either of us.¡¯


    Skelly¡¯s cheeks had gone red. The smile flattened from her face. ¡®I know,¡¯ she said sharply, and then added, ¡®Sir,¡¯ as if fearful he would revoke her shore time.


    Leftrin shook his head, then shrugged. ¡®Go see your friends. Wander the city. Sa knows, I¡¯m as curious as you are about this place. And if I were a deckhand instead of the captain of this vessel, I¡¯d want to get off and take a good look. But I¡¯m not. So I¡¯ll be staying aboard, and I¡¯ll expect to find you at the galley table when dawn breaks, ready for a day¡¯s work.¡¯


    ¡®Sir,¡¯ she agreed and spun on her heel. In a twinkling, she was down on the dock and hurrying up the street. As they watched, Alum waved a farewell to Tats and Sedric and hurried after her.


    ¡®Are you sure that was wise?¡¯ Alise asked, and then wondered at her own temerity.


    ¡®I am sure it was not,¡¯ he told her. ¡®Come.¡¯


    Together they began the slow circuit of Tarman¡¯s deck that always presaged bed and rest for them. Bed. No rest tonight, and a sudden shiver of desire rushed through her. A moment later, Leftrin smiled. ¡®That¡¯s an odd reaction for a lady to have to a poor sailor checking his knots.¡¯


    ¡®This ship keeps none of my secrets from you,¡¯ she laughed, and walked to the next cleat to inspect the lines for herself. As Leftrin came to join her, she said more quietly, ¡®I fear for your niece. While you have been gone, I have watched this place change all the young keepers. Alum is no exception. Skelly may not find him the same young man she left behind.¡¯


    Leftrin smiled wryly. ¡®That is ever the fate of sailors! And if you are correct, the sooner she discovers it, the better. And then she may be glad that she did not break her engagement with her beau in Trehaug.¡¯ He shook his head and in response to her unasked question, added, ¡®There were many things I did not get done there. Did Malta and Reyn tell you the full tale of how the Council received me, and of the dastardly attack on Malta and her babe?¡¯


    ¡®I had the bones of it. I do not think Malta wanted to relive it, and Reyn strikes me as a man who always speaks less than he knows.¡¯


    Leftrin made a wry face. ¡®They are private people. Despite their beauty, I think they have lived a life apart. Perhaps because of it. Or it may be caution. They may fear treachery still. Who would ever have imagined Malta the Elderling attacked by Chalcedeans in a Rain Wild city? It speaks to me of a duke who is very determined to get what he wants, and Traders corrupt enough to help him in that insanity. Alise, I know you have feared for the city. But the treasure that seems to be sought most at this time is not Elderling artefacts but dragon flesh. The rewards for it must be very high indeed if two men were willing to murder a woman and a newborn child in the hope of passing off their bodies as dragon meat. The dragons have shown already that they can drive off approaching ships. But what I fear is what will eventually happen if they feel they must continue to defend themselves. Sooner or later, human lives will be lost. Possibly many of them. And if there is war between humans and dragons, where will the Elderlings stand?¡¯


    Alise walked with him in silence as they checked the last three lines. She heard the low murmur of voices and glanced up. On the roof of the deckhouse, Hennesey was standing, a wide smile on his face as he told some sailor story to a strange woman. Her scaled face reflected light from the tethered globes. So. That must be Tillamon, Reyn¡¯s sister. She seemed captured by the mate¡¯s tale. The Rain Wild woman was well bundled against the night¡¯s damp chill. Someone had thought to bring her an Elderling gown. Probably Sylve, Alise thought to herself. In the reflected light of the failing torches, it glimmered copper and bronze. She was smiling up at Hennesey as he concluded his story, and they both laughed aloud at the finish of it. Much as she wanted to meet Reyn¡¯s sister, Alise knew that now would not be a good time for pleasantries.

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    Leftrin halted beside her. His eyes were narrowed and a slight scowl bent his lips. She took his arm and drew him along with her as she approached the galley door. ¡®They do as we do, my dear. They take what joy they may find in life as they can. As you well know that Skelly has run off to do tonight, also. The shadows of harsh times creep over us. For in a battle between dragons and men, my love, it is not only the Elderlings who must decide where they stand, but you and me as well.¡¯


    They stepped into the cramped little galley of the ship. The room was deserted. A single mug, half full of coffee, graced the table. The small room smelled of coffee and cooking grease, tar and people living in close quarters. Alise felt her heart lift. ¡®It¡¯s so good to be home,¡¯ she said.


    He folded her into his arms, his hand sleeking her Elderling robe to her body. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, slowly and gently, as if all the time in the world belonged to them. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, she was breathless. Words came in a whisper. ¡®Now is all we really have, isn¡¯t it?¡¯


    He tucked her against him, his chin resting on top of her head as if she were an instrument he was preparing to play. ¡®Now is enough,¡¯ he murmured. ¡®Now is enough for me.¡¯


    Day the 2nd of the Plough Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Reyall, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown


    To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug, and Erek


    Standard message tube, wax applied.


    I am sure you are aware of the unhappiness of many of our patrons. The Bingtown Traders¡¯ Council has now filed a formal petition asking that the Guild accept a Committee of Traders to look into allegations of corruption, spying and the selling of secrets. Messages and even birds have gone missing now. I think it likely we can blame some of the missing birds on the unwieldy message tubes and attachments that we are now being required to use!


    Three of our apprentices have reported being approached by Trader families wishing to breed and use birds of their own to establish private message flocks. I do not need to explain to you how this would undermine the Guild. A whole way of life and livelihood will be lost if this comes to pass.


    We have been directed here to adhere strictly to all rules about messages between bird keepers. Appending an additional message to an official message sent by a client is now cause for dismissal from the Guild. We must do bird counts three times a day, including eggs and fledglings, and any bad eggs or young birds that die in the nest must be witnessed by three bird keepers of journey level or higher before they can be disposed of. Bird keepers in Bingtown are allowed only to touch birds specifically registered to their own coops. Informally helping one another, allowed in the past, is now forbidden.


    Have these measures also been enacted in Trehaug or Cassarick or the lesser settlements? I will tell you that there are rumours that the Guild is sending out ¡®testers¡¯, but the gossip does not tell if these are men attempting to bribe bird keepers, or if they are messages designed to tempt those who tamper and spy. It saddens me that I rise to being a full Keeper of the Birds in these distrustful times.


    In happier news, Erek, your Swift Birds appear to be breeding true. Two of the offspring set records this last week in a race back to Bingtown after being released from a ship that was four days out of port. I have submitted the breeding records to the Guild Masters, noting that you were the one who saw the potential and began specifically breeding this line. I hope they will recognize your expertise.


    With respect and affection,


    Reyall


    CHAPTER NINE


    Passing Ships


    Hest was trapped in someone else¡¯s life. This was not the existence of the heir son of a Bingtown trader! He had never lived in such miserable conditions, let alone travelled in them. He¡¯d lost count of the days he¡¯d been confined below decks. He still wore the same garments he had been wearing when the Chalcedean had abducted him. Now they hung on him, their tailoring a victim of his greatly reduced diet and heavy labour. He knew he stank, but his only option for washing himself was cold river water, and he knew the dangers of using it. The chores the Chalcedean gave him put him out on the deck in the weather as often as not. His hands and face were chapped and sore from exposure to rain and chill and sun; his clothes were fading and tattering. He could not remember the last time his feet had been dry. He was starting to develop sores under his toes, and the wind-reddened skin on his face and hands stung constantly.


    He still had nightmares about disposing of Redding¡¯s body. Dragging Arich¡¯s body out along the narrow walkways in the dark and rain and eventually shoving him over the edge had been disgusting and unpleasant work. They had heard his falling body crashing through branches but there had been no final sound. It had made Hest queasy but it paled in comparison to his final parting with Redding. The Chalcedean had made him carry Redding¡¯s body, and they had gone quite a distance, choosing always the tree paths that seemed least used. Eventually they had been balancing along a limb that had no safety ropes at all. Redding¡¯s body was slung across Hest¡¯s shoulders as if he were a hunter bearing home a deer. The familiar fragrance of Redding¡¯s pomade mingled with the smell of the blood that dribbled down Hest¡¯s neck. With every step, his limp burden had grown heavier and more horrific. Yet he had no choice but to lurch along in front of the man with the knife at his back. He suspected that if he had fallen while carrying the body, the man would have thought it of little consequence. The Chalcedean had finally chosen a spot where the narrowing limb of their tree crossed branches with another. Hest had propped Redding there and left him for the scavengers to find.

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    ¡®Ants and such will take him down to bones in just a few days,¡¯ said the Chalcedean. ¡®If he is found, which I doubt, no one will be able to tell who he was. Now we go back to your room and obscure all sign that you were ever in Cassarick.¡¯


    He had meant it quite literally. He¡¯d burned the children¡¯s hands in the pottery hearth and destroyed the elaborate boxes that had held them. Redding¡¯s cloak became a sack to hold the precious stones he¡¯d salvaged from the boxes. He¡¯d departed briefly, warning Hest not to leave. Hest suspected that he went to murder the woman who had rented him the room. If he did, he accomplished it very quietly. Perhaps, Hest told himself as he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering, he had only bribed her well. But he was gone a very long time, leaving Hest alone in the room that smelled of burnt flesh and spilled blood. Sitting in the dimness, he could not shake the image of Redding¡¯s ruined face peering back at him from the crook of the tree. The Chalcedean had slashed it repeatedly, cross-hatching it with cuts until his familiar features were eradicated. Redding¡¯s eyes had stared out from the dangling tatters of his once-handsome face.


    Hest had always thought of himself as a ruthless Trader. Deception, spying, sharp deals that bordered on theft; he had never seen any advantage to being fair, let alone ethical. Trade was a rough game and ¡®every Trader needs to watch his own back¡¯, as his father often said. It had pleased him to think of himself as rough-and-tumble, a man hardened to everything. But never had he been a party to murder. He hadn¡¯t loved Redding, not as Sedric over-used that tired word. But Redding had been an adept lover and a jolly companion. And his death had left Hest alone in this mess. ¡®I didn¡¯t mean for any of this to happen,¡¯ he had told the dying flames. ¡®It¡¯s not my fault. If Sedric had never made his insane bargain, I wouldn¡¯t be here now. It¡¯s all Sedric¡¯s fault.¡¯


    He had not heard the door open, but he had felt the draught and seen the hearth flames flicker. The Chalcedean was a black shadow against the blackness beyond. He pulled the door quietly closed. ¡®Now, you will write a few letters for me. Then, we shall deliver them.¡¯


    Hest had been beyond questioning what was happening to him. He wrote the letters as he was told, to names he did not recognize, signing his own name to them. In the notes he bragged of his reputation as a clever Trader and directed them to meet him before dawn at the impervious boat that was tied up at the docks. Every letter was identical, stressing discretion and hinting that a great fortune awaited them now that ¡®our plans have come to fruition¡¯, and citing names of Traders that Hest had never even met.


    Each letter was neatly rolled, tied with twine, and sealed with a drop of wax. Then the Chalcedean smothered the fire in the hearth and they left the stripped room, carrying the missives with them.


    The long night had become endless as they moved through Cassarick. The Chalcedean was spry but not absolutely certain of their way. More than once, they retraced their steps. But eventually, the six scrolls had been delivered, tied to door-handles or wedged into door-frames. Hest had been almost grateful to follow the assassin down the endless stairs to the muddy road at the bottom of the city. His well-appointed stateroom, a clean warm bed and dry garments awaited him on the impervious ship. Once he was there and alone, surely he could put the night¡¯s events into focus and decide what he must do next. Once there, he would be Hest again and this evil adventure would become no more than an episode in his past. But when they reached the vessel, the Chalcedean had prodded him along at knifepoint, forcing him into a cargo compartment below decks, and then dropping the hatch shut behind him.


    The indignity had astonished him. He¡¯d stood, arms crossed sternly on his chest, and waited in silence, certain that the Chalcedean would return at any moment. As time passed, the discomfort had infuriated him. He groped his way around the freight compartment but found only rough timber walls with no hope of egress. The hatch was just out of his reach and when he climbed the short ladder to push at it, he found it secured. He pounded on the hatch but could achieve no real force, and his shouting roused no one. He had paced, cursing and roaring until he was exhausted. Eventually he had sat down to wait for the Chalcedean, but awakened to darkness. How long he had been held there, he did not know.


    Time passed. Hunger and thirst afflicted him. When the hatch was finally lifted, the wan daylight flooded down and blinded him. He immediately started up the ladder.


    ¡®Out of the way!¡¯ someone shouted at him. And other men were pushed pell-mell down the hatch. Three landed well, cursing and trying to fight their way back to the ladder even as others were being forced down. Hest recognized some of them as his fellow passengers from the trip up the river, and others as members of the ship¡¯s crew. Some were Jamaillians who had invested in the boat¡¯s construction, the last a pair of Bingtown Traders. The men who looked down at them, mocking and threatening, were unmistakably Chalcedeans, with their embroidered vests and the curved knives they favoured.

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    ¡®What¡¯s going on?¡¯ Hest demanded, and one Trader shouted, ¡®It¡¯s a mutiny!¡¯ while another said, ¡®There were Chalcedeans hiding below decks for the whole voyage. They¡¯ve taken over the ship!¡¯ The cargo hold was crowded with men, at least ten of them. One was holding his shoulder and blood seeped between his fingers. Several of the frightened and confused merchants bore signs of a struggle.


    ¡®Where¡¯s the captain?¡¯ Hest asked through the shouting and taunts.


    ¡®In on it!¡¯ someone shouted at him, as angry as if it were his fault. ¡®Well paid to let these bastards on board and hide them. Claims they invested just as much as we did, and paid him more on the side!¡¯


    The hatch cover began to slide shut. Men surged toward the ladder, shouting defiance and pleas, but in moments, the light was gone.


    If being alone and locked below deck was bad, then being crowded in with two dozen strangers in the dark was worse. Some were irrational with anger or fear. Others argued heatedly about exactly what had happened and who was at fault. Some of them were not former passengers but Rain Wild Traders ¡®tricked into coming down to the ship by a false message¡¯. Hest kept his mouth shut and was grateful for the darkness that kept him anonymous.


    The Chalcedeans who now commanded the ship had apparently killed at least three crewmen in taking over the vessel, and possibly four, as a woman who had come aboard had been flung over the side bleeding but still alive. Hest suddenly grasped the full ruthlessness of the assassin and the gravity of his own situation. When one of his fellow prisoners speculated that they¡¯d probably all be dead before long, someone roared at him to shut up but no one contradicted him. Two of the men climbed the ladder and exhausted themselves trying to force the heavy hatch open while the others shouted encouragement and suggestions. Hest had retreated to a corner of the compartment and put his back to the wall.


    While they were pounding, a new motion started. It took Hest a moment to deduce what it was and in that second, one of the crewmen shouted, ¡®You feel that? They¡¯re shoving off. We¡¯re under way. Those bastards are kidnapping us!¡¯


    A roar of voices rose, the angry cries underscored with wild wailing from one man. The victims pounded on the walls and shouted, but the rhythmic rocking of the ship only increased as it picked up speed in its battle with the current.


    ¡®Where are they taking us?¡¯ Hest demanded of everyone and no one.


    ¡®Upriver,¡¯ someone responded. ¡®Feel how she fights the current.¡¯


    ¡®Why? What do they want from us?¡¯


    His question was drowned in the outcry the others raised as they realized they were being carried away from any hope of outside aid.


    The swearing and the shouting went on for a long time, to be replaced gradually by angry discussion and then muttering and the sound of someone weeping harshly. Hest felt dazed by his situation. He crouched in his spot in the darkness, smelling sweat and piss. As time trudged by and moving water whispered past the sides of the vessel, he wondered what had become of his organized and genteel life. None of this seemed possible, let alone real. How furious his mother would be when she heard of this outrage to her son!


    If she ever heard of it. And in that moment, Hest suddenly realized how completely he had been severed from his old life. His name, his family¡¯s money, his roguish reputation, his mother¡¯s love for him meant nothing here. All shields, all protections, had fallen away. In a caught breath, he could become a body, his face slashed beyond recognition, food for ants or fish. He gasped, his chest hurting. He subsided onto the deck and sat in the darkness, his face resting on his knees. The thunder of his heart filled his ears. Time passed, or perhaps it did not. He could not tell.


    When the hatch was finally slid open, it admitted a yellow slice of lantern light. Night reigned. A voice Hest recognized warned them, ¡®Stand back! If any man starts up the ladder, he¡¯ll fall back with a knife in his heart. Hest Finbok! Come to where I can see you. Yes. There you are. You. Come up. Now.¡¯


    Back in the corner of the hold, someone bellowed, ¡®Hest Finbok? Is that Hest Finbok? He is here? He¡¯s the traitor that lured me here with a note left on my doorstep, even signed his own name to it! Finbok, you deserve to die! You¡¯re a traitor to Bingtown and the Rain Wilds!¡¯


    By the time Hest reached the top of the short ladder, he was fleeing the ugliness below as much as reaching toward space and air. As he scrambled out onto the deck on all fours, curses and threats followed him. Two sailors slid the hatch shut, cutting off the cries of those trapped below. He found himself at the feet of the Chalcedean. The assassin was holding a lantern and looked very weary. ¡®Follow me,¡¯ he barked and did not wait to see if Hest obeyed. He trailed behind him to the door of his erstwhile stateroom.

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    The scattered contents of Hest¡¯s plundered wardrobe littered the floor of his erstwhile stateroom, his garments mingled carelessly with Redding¡¯s. The chest of wine, cheese, sausages and delicacies that Redding had so carefully packed stood open, and the sticky table attested to the enjoyment of its contents. Obviously the Chalcedean had settled in and availed himself of all the room¡¯s comforts. The bedding on Hest¡¯s bunk was rumpled, half dragged to the floor. Redding¡¯s was undisturbed. The shock and loss of his friend¡¯s death swept through him again and he drew a breath, but before he could speak, the Chalcedean spun to confront him. The look on his face drove the breath from Hest¡¯s lungs and he stumbled back a step. ¡®Clean it up!¡¯ he barked, and then flung himself, boots and all, onto Redding¡¯s bed and reclined there, eyes half-lidded, face lined with weariness. When Hest just stood, staring at him, he spoke quietly. His scarred lips bulged and stretched with the words. ¡®I don¡¯t really have a need for you any more. If you are useful, I may keep you alive. If not ¡­¡¯ His hand lifted and one of his little knives had appeared. He waggled it at Hest and smiled.


    Ever since that moment, Hest had lived as the Chalcedean¡¯s slave. He served, not only the assassin, but any Chalcedean who barked an order at him. He was given the lowliest and most disgusting tasks: from emptying chamber-pots overboard to clearing the galley table and washing the dishes. As Hest had scrubbed the blood of slain crewmen off the deck, he had decided he would offer no resistance. He lived hour to hour. Of his fellow prisoners he saw no sign, and heard only their angry shouts and pleas that weakened daily. He ate the leavings from his masters¡¯ meals, and slept below decks in a locker full of spare line and shackles. He was glad not to be lodged with the other prisoners, for he knew that they blamed him for their predicament and would tear him to pieces if they could. His was a solitary existence, despised by the Chalcedeans and reviled by the Traders.


    He learned little that he didn¡¯t already know. The ¡®impervious¡¯ ships were being built in Jamaillia, and the shipbuilders cared little who paid for them, as long as they paid well. Chalcedeans might be prohibited by the Traders from the Rain Wild River, but their obsession with slaughtering dragons conquered all concerns they might have had. The Chalcedean ¡®investors¡¯ had remained hidden on the very ship on which he had travelled up the river. And now, a bribed captain and a Chalcedean crew were taking the vessel up the Rain Wild River, into unexplored territory in the hopes of finding Kelsingra and dragons to butcher.


    It was insane. Just because the ship would not be eaten by the river, it could not be assumed that the forgotten city could be found or that the malformed dragons were actually there. And if they did find Kelsingra and the dragons were there, what then? Had any of them ever witnessed the fury of an enraged dragon? When Hest had dared to voice that question, the Chalcedean had stared him down with cold, still eyes. Dread had uncoiled in Hest¡¯s belly and he had steeled himself not to scream as he died. But the man had only said, ¡®You have never witnessed the fury of our duke when thwarted. Insanity and impossible missions are to be preferred to disappointing him.¡¯ He cocked his head. ¡®Do you think a jewelled box with my son¡¯s hand in it is the worst thing I can imagine?¡¯ He shook his head slowly. ¡®You have no idea.¡¯ Falling silent, the assassin had stared out of the window at the passing view of the forested riverbank and Hest had been relieved to resume his menial duties.


    Hest knew little about the dragons and even less of Alise¡¯s theories about lost Elderling cities. Time and again he had been interrogated, with stern warnings that lies would bring great pain. He had never lied, being too convinced of the Chalcedean¡¯s utter willingness to punish him for any falsehood. It had been hard to stand and repeat, ¡®I do not know,¡¯ to the man¡¯s whispered or shouted questions, but from the beginning, he had known that the truth was his only protection. Any lie he might have invented to please him would surely have tangled around his tongue later.


    Over and over, the Chalcedean came back to one thing. ¡®Was not this the mission your father sent you on? To retrieve your runaway wife? And did not you tell me she had run off with your slave? So. How were you going to do that? You must know something of how to find the city and the dragons?¡¯


    ¡®No. NO! I don¡¯t. He said I must go to the Rain Wilds, and so I went. I know no more than you do, and probably less. The people I would have spoken to are back in Trehaug, or maybe in the cargo hold of this ship! You should ask them, not me!¡¯


    So although the Chalcedean had several times slapped him hard enough to bloody the inside of his cheek, and once back-handed him off a chair, Hest had not suffered any extreme physical hurt or damage. Unlike some of the Trader captives in the hold of the ship. But there was no good to be had of dwelling on that. It was none of his doing, and solely their misfortune. Confined to his gear locker, he had blocked his ears against the sounds of torture. And when he had been ordered to clean up the aftermath, he did only what he was told.

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    And assured himself that despite his hardships, he hadn¡¯t really been hurt. Some bruises and cuts. Some hunger. He had suffered only the utter humiliation of living at the man¡¯s beck and call. Only the complete destruction of his good name among those Traders imprisoned aboard the vessel. Only the death of his lover and his forced participation in concealing the murder. He tried not to let his thoughts dwell on the greater impact of the terrible things that had befallen him. Sometimes, his thoughts strayed to his father and mother; did they yet know he was missing? Had they taken action, offered rewards, sent out birds hiring searchers? Or would his father grumpily assume that Hest was deliberately out of contact, having taken his lover along on his trip to the Rain Wilds? Probably the latter, he admitted to himself. He could not even dream of escaping and returning to Bingtown. This would follow him for the rest of his life unless he could find some way to redeem himself.


    Hest gritted his teeth and wrung out the shirt. It was a chill and blustery day. He had started the washing with hot water, but the wind had quickly cooled it. It was one of his own shirts, he¡¯d noted with grim silence, appropriated by the Chalcedean, as had been most of his possessions. He wore Hest¡¯s fur-lined cloak out onto the deck even in pouring rain, while Hest shivered in his shirt-sleeves as he went about his tasks. He had never so hated a man as he hated the Chalcedean. He hated, too, the moments in which he wondered if this was how Sedric had sometimes felt about him, when he had indulged in utter domination of the younger man. As the boat bore him on, ever closer to a possible reunion with Sedric, he found his feelings about him were in turmoil. When he slept on the wooden planks that floored his cargo compartment, it was hard not to recall how the young man had once been eager to assure every aspect of Hest¡¯s comfort. He would have gently rubbed Hest¡¯s aching shoulders and back, and exclaimed in horror over Hest¡¯s ruined hands. Sedric¡¯s devotion to him had actually begun to grate on Hest toward the end of their relationship. He recalled now how deliberately he had challenged his affection, trampling on Sedric¡¯s sentimental gestures, turning his tender advances into rough encounters and mocking his efforts to discover how he had displeased his lover. At the time, it had all been so amusing, and Redding¡¯s suggestions as to how he might test his lover¡¯s ardour had resulted in many anecdotes that he had later used to regale Redding and stimulate his rivalry with Sedric. How they had laughed together during their early assignations. With his clever tongue, how Redding had mocked Sedric¡¯s gullibility and trusting nature!


    And yet, despite all of Sedric¡¯s declarations of devotion, he was responsible for this disaster. It was all Sedric¡¯s fault that he had been reduced to scrubbing out someone else¡¯s laundry, his life daily endangered and his reputation as a Bingtown Trader in tatters. In the dark hold at night, during the hours when he had the most leisure to pity himself, Hest sometimes imagined the poignancy of a possible reunion. When Sedric looked at his friend and benefactor and saw him bruised and thin, worn with hardship and unjust imprisonment, would he then realize how badly he had wronged Hest? Would he grasp the magnitude of the evil he had done with his pathetic efforts to become a Trader in his own right? Would he, perhaps, risk his own life to save Hest¡¯s? Or would he turn aside selfishly and leave him to his fate?


    Sometimes Hest played through the possible outcomes in his mind. Sedric risking his life to save him, and Hest magnanimously welcoming him back into his life. Sometimes he ground his teeth in fury as he imagined Sedric rejoicing at the mischief he had done. But perhaps Sedric himself was already dead, the victim of his own foolishness. It was certainly the fate he hoped had befallen Alise!


    At other times, when bitterness and desolation weighed him down most heavily, he simply hoped he would die quickly. He had no illusions as to why the Chalcedean had preserved his life and those of the other Bingtown Traders. ¡®Having a few valuable hostages is always a nice bit of security,¡¯ the man had told him as Hest waited for him to finish eating one evening. ¡®We¡¯ve no idea what we¡¯ll encounter when we come back past Trehaug. Hostages may buy us safe passage. The only ones we have taken are those with the misfortune to have been on board our ship, and those Traders who had agreed to help us obtain dragon parts for the Duke. Since they broke their word to us, they deserved to come with us and aid us however they may in getting what they promised us. But even if they are useless at that, hostages can be offered for ransom from Chalced once we are home again. Waste not, want not.¡¯


    And then, just as Hest was reflecting that his mother, at least, would pay handsomely for his return, the man added, ¡®But don¡¯t think of becoming more trouble than you¡¯re worth. Right now, you are useful. Continue in that role, and I¡¯ll continue to spare your life. Become any sort of a nuisance, and I won¡¯t.¡¯

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    Hest wrung the shirt out a final time, feeling the mild sting of the acidic water on his hands. The fabric was a paler blue than when he had begun; the river was only mildly acid right now, but given enough exposure, it would eat the shirt to a rag. Too bad. It had been one of Hest¡¯s favourites. Sedric, he recalled bitterly, had chosen the fabric and the tailor for it.


    He gave the wet shirt a shake, snapping it out in the crisp breeze. Clean enough. He carried the bucket to the side to dump it overboard. He sighted the other vessel at the same moment as one of the Chalcedean deckhands. ¡®There¡¯s a boat headed toward us!¡¯ the lookout shouted. ¡®It¡¯s an impervious vessel, twin to our own!¡¯


    Hest watched it come toward them, carried on the river¡¯s swift current and pushed by the wind against its single square sail. He stood as he was, holding the rail, listening to the shouts from the other ship, and the round of orders issued by both captains. Each appeared surprised to see the other vessel. Hest thought of calling out and warning him that there had been a mutiny, that Chalcedean pirates now held the ship, but in the end he chose caution and silence. The captain and crew of the sister ship were Jamaillian, and as the vessels manoeuvred closer to one another, it was obvious to him that they had already faced some sort of trouble.


    ¡®Dragons!¡¯ someone on the other ship shouted. ¡®We were attacked by dragons! Have you a surgeon aboard? We have need of one.¡¯


    There were gouges in the ship¡¯s hull, and part of one deck railing was completely gone. The lookout who shouted carried one arm in a sling and his head was bandaged in a turban. Hest craned his neck, trying to see more, but suddenly the Chalcedean was at his elbow. ¡®Go below. Now.¡¯


    And Hest went, like a beaten dog, followed by his master, to be shoved down into the storage compartment again. The hatch closed and he heard it secured. He went and sat down in the corner of the locker and leaned his head back against the bulwark. Sound, he had discovered, carried oddly throughout the ship. He listened. He could not make out individual words, but there was some sort of a shouted conversation, and then, as he had dreaded, running feet on the deck above him and loud commands, heavy thuds and men yelling in anger or fear, and one clear scream of agony that was cut short. The thunder of pounding feet on the deck and the shouting went on for some time and he sat hunched in suspense, wondering what was happening and how it would affect his chances of survival.


    A brief quiet fell, and then noises resumed. He heard the cover of the other hatch being dragged open. The prisoners there no longer shouted and pounded on the walls as they once had; he suspected they were given enough food and water to keep them alive, but little more than that. But now the sounds he heard made him suspect the Chalcedeans had just added fresh specimens to their collection of ransomable captives. Did that mean they had captured the other vessel, or simply taken prisoners in some sort of skirmish? And why, in Sa¡¯s name, would they do that?


    He drew his knees up to his chest and huddled onto his side, shivering in the chill. His mind raced, trying to think as they would. Of course. The other ship had shouted a warning to them about dragons. The other captain had found the way to wherever the dragons were. And now the Chalcedeans would use his knowledge to go where they must. To where dragons had attacked them. And Hest would go with them into that danger.


    Tintaglia flew again. Not gracefully, not easily, but she flew. With every flap of her wings, fluid pulsed in a slow dribble from her toxic wound. Pain echoed each beat. The infection was spreading, taking a toll on her whole body. All around the wound area, her scales were beginning to slip, leaving the bared area of skin soft and painful. When she slept long, she awoke with her eyes gummed shut and had to snort mucus from her nostrils. She was hungry constantly, but no matter how much she ate, she took no strength from her food. Everything was a task; all pleasure had fled from her life.


    Her landing in Trehaug had been disastrous. She had exhausted her strength quickly, and foolishly stooped to attack a herd of river pigs in the shallows. She caught one, but it was small, and she had eaten it standing in the fast-flowing water. Her efforts to take to the air after that had failed. Three times she had beaten her wings furiously, and each time she had fallen back into the icy river. She¡¯d been forced to spend a night in the cold water.


    By daylight¡¯s dawning, she¡¯d been scarcely able to stand. The thick canopy of trees leaning out over the river had made it impossible for her to take flight from the shallows. It had taken all her will to force herself to wade upriver. Only luck had delivered a basking tusker to her jaws that evening, after which she had slept on a narrow strip of reeds and mud. Two more days of sluggishly toiling up the river, eating whatever she could find, carrion included, had taken a toll on her. On the night she found a broad sandbar to sleep on, one that protruded beyond the over-reaching trees, she had wondered if she would wake the following day.

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    But she had. Lightened by privation, driven by desperation, knowing it was her final chance, she had leapt, beating her wings. And flown again.


    It took all her concentration to keep to her path. Each stroke of her wings now demanded a conscious effort and an iron will as she defied both pain and weariness to drive herself on. Soon she would have to divert from her course and find something to kill and eat. Only then would she allow herself to sleep. Already her body nagged her with weariness. She wanted to stop now but every day she flew less and rested more. One day she would not be able to rouse herself and make the immense effort to rise once more to the skies. If that day came before she reached Kelsingra, then she would die. And dragonkind would die with her, her immature eggs never laid. Ever since she had seen the incompetent weaklings that had emerged from the last serpents¡¯ cases, she had known that she was the sole hope of her race.


    Until, that was, the single arrow of a treacherous human had doomed her dreams. Sometimes, as now, when the pain blossomed brighter and brighter in her side and made every muscle in her body ache with its echoes, she took refuge in hatred. She fed it with plans and dreams of how she would take vengeance on those humans, how she would return to Chalced when she had her strength back, to sear their paltry cities with dragon fire and dragon might. She would kill hundreds, thousands of them in her revenge, and teach them forever-more to fear the wrath of a dragon.


    With every downward stroke of her wings she renewed her vow to fill the streets of those cities with screaming humans.


    Kelsingra. Not far now, she promised herself. Much farther than Trehaug, true, but she could make it. She could because she must. Sometimes, just as sleep claimed her, she heard the distant dragons. They had found Kelsingra, and created Elderlings for themselves and wakened the city. Awake, she could not reach their minds. It was only when she was on the verge of exhaustion that their distant thoughts intersected with hers. Once she had even thought that Malta reached out to her, her thoughts full of anxiety and reproach. She had tried to respond to her Elderling, tried to command her to be ready to serve her dragon. But awake, the pain fogged her mind and made tasks as simple as flying and hunting challenges for her. Still, that their thoughts could brush hers meant that it could not be much farther.


    At least the rain had stopped for a time. At least she was not flying against the wind. Such small comforts were all she had. She beat her wings steadily but flew lower over the river, watching for game, and thus heard the cacophony of sound before she saw the source. When she saw the two boats below her, she knew a moment of fury. The two vessels were locked together, their crews shouting at one another and throwing each other into the river. Not a hunt for meat, just killing each other, as usual. Noisy, useless, smelly humans! Their uproar would have driven all game from the area. Just when she needed her hunting to be effortless, they had complicated it. No game of any size would venture within earshot of their useless squabbling. If she could have spared the energy, she would have circled back and spat venom at them for the trouble they had caused her. She flew low over them, hearing their cries as the wind of her passage rocked both vessels. As she did so, she caught a scent that lifted her hearts.


    Dragon venom.


    Grunting with the effort, she banked her wings and circled back. Yes. There were acid runs and scorches on the deck of one of the vessels. It was clearly the work of an angry dragon. Or dragons? She took a long snuff of the air as she passed over the ship. Possibly more than one. Certainly it was not the work of IceFyre. She knew his rank musk well. No, the vengeance below did not reflect his temperament either. The boat still floated and the crew had been allowed to escape. Not IceFyre, then. Other dragons. Other dragons that could fly! Fly, and spit acid fire. Real dragons. Hope blazed up within her and she resumed her course, her will to ignore the pain and live reinforced. Other dragons. Her dreams had steered her true. Other dragons lived and flew in the sky over Kelsingra. A future awaited her.


    She followed the river, leaving the humans and their noise behind, around a lazy bend and then on, until she came to a long muddy spit covered in winter-dead rushes. Fortune favoured her in the form of a herd of river pigs that had emerged from the water to snout and dig in the rushes. Some ancient memory or perhaps a more recent experience alarmed them as her shadow swept over them, for they squealed and began to rush back toward the water. She answered their squeals with a scream of her own, expelling pain and hunger as she banked far too sharply on her injured side. She more fell than dived on the herd, coming down with every taloned foot extended wide. Her chest hit a large pig, pinning him to the muddy bank, and her left claws raked another wide open. With her right she convulsively seized an animal, pulling it in close to her body and uniting its squeals to the cries of the one trapped under her chest. Her eyes spun with red fury at the pain it had cost her to make her kill, and she savaged the two trapped pigs to a messy death, tearing them into pieces.

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    When their dying squeals faded, she remained as she was, sprawled upon her kills, trying to draw breath. Stillness was her only hope of making the pain subside. And after a time, it did, but not to its previous level. It was something she had noticed: every day it hurt more and every day the sudden spikes of agony that a wrong movement could deliver became more debilitating. Yet the spilled blood smelled so good, and the warmth of the freshly-killed prey beckoned her. As cautious as if she were woven of glass strands, she extended her neck to pick up a chunk of pig. She gulped it down, waking her hunger. Need warred with pain. She could scarcely stand, but managed to manoeuvre herself over the mucky ground to reach her kills.


    As soon as the last piece was swallowed, lethargy rose up to claim her. It was still early in the afternoon. There was plenty of light to fly by still, but she had no strength for it. Pain still ruled her but the muddy bank was chill and damp. She dragged herself to slightly higher ground, to where the rushes had not been crushed and dirtied by her battle. She considered, regretfully, that if she slept now, she would be here all through the night. She would not wake in time to fly more today. It was as it was, she decided. She settled, gently arranging her body in the position that hurt least and closing her eyes.


    Day the 3rd of the Plough Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Reyall, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown


    To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug


    Enclosed, a transcription of a hand-carried message from Wintrow Vestrit Haven, captain of the liveship Vivacia and Consort to the Pirate Queen Etta Ludluck.


    Please note that dates indicate this message has been delayed by several months, through no fault of the Bird Keepers¡¯ Guild. It is addressed to the Khuprus household, but appears intended for Reyn and Malta Khuprus.


    To my sister, Malta Vestrit Khuprus and her husband, Reyn Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders:


    Sister, Brother, if you can summon that dragon of yours, there was never a better time for you to do so. My efforts to locate Selden have been fruitless. I wish he had contacted me before he undertook a journey in this direction, for I would have made sure that a suitable escort was provided to an Elderling lord and dragon-poet such as he. For now, I am heartsick to tell you that I have received tidings of a ¡®Dragon-Boy¡¯ that somewhat matches a description of Selden since his Elderling changes. I both hope and fear that this is indeed our little brother. My hope is that at least he was alive when this gossip reached me and my fear is that he is in dire need of help, as he has been taken as a slave of sorts, displayed as a wonder for the ignorant gawker. I pray to Sa to keep him safe wherever he may be, but I have also offered a substantial reward if he is brought safely to me. I regretfully add that I have promised a reward also for reliable news of his demise, with evidence, for I would know what has become of him, no matter how much sorrow it brings me.


    What was our mother thinking, to let him go off on his own like this? Did no one there think of how valuable a hostage he was to any that cared to take him?


    Vivacia sends greetings to Althea and Brashen, if you should see them. Etta earnestly desires them to know that our Paragon wishes to see the ship whose name he bears. I myself think he is still young to hear of that part of his heritage, for doubtless the Paragon would disagree and would impart far more information than a boy of his years needs to understand just yet.


    Please remember you are always welcome here and that we all most earnestly desire to see you again.


    And if Selden has since wandered home, in the name of Sa herself, send me word by the swiftest means possible.


    When I think of him, I still imagine him as a boy with his front teeth just beginning to grow in.


    My love to both of you, and my hope that this finds you both in good health.


    Your loving brother,


    Wintrow


    CHAPTER TEN


    Tintaglia¡¯s Touch


    ¡®But we came so far!¡¯ Malta protested. ¡®There must be something you can do! Please!¡¯


    The golden dragon once more lowered his muzzle and drew his breath in as he nearly touched her child with his nose. The dragon¡¯s head was so large that she could see only one of his eyes at a time when he was this close. That black eye seemed to whirl as he slowly lidded it and then opened it again. The wind off the river rose in a gust and swept past them. And Malta waited, hope painful in her chest.


    A number of the dragons had converged on the baths late last night. Alise had cautioned her that they would not be patient of questions when they were soaking lethargically. So Malta had risen at dawn and waited in the Square of the Dragons, knowing they must pass her before they could take to the skies to hunt. They were hungry. One after another, she had importuned them to help her babe. A few had simply passed her by as if she were a mad beggar woman. Others had paused to snuff the baby. ¡®He smells of Tintaglia,¡¯ a green queen dragon had told her, and a tall cobalt dragon had said, ¡®Would that I were of Tintaglia¡¯s lineage!¡¯ before he passed on. One after another, she had stopped them, sometimes with the aid of their keepers. Hunger flared in them and she shared their relentless appetites when she spoke to them.

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    Now only one remained. His slender, golden-haired keeper stood with her hand on his mountainous shoulder, almost as if her touch could restrain him. Hunger blazed inside him, but fondness for the little creature at his side tempered it. Malta felt how impatience simmered in the dragon but desperation boiled in her own heart. She reached for courtesy, reviewed all she knew of dragons and sank down in a low curtsey. ¡®Please, O Glorious One. Please, proud lord of the Three Realms. Please help me understand.¡¯


    Golden Mercor drew his head back and looked down on her once more. He was almost patient as he repeated what he had already told her. ¡®No one here is sufficiently related to Tintaglia to accomplish what you ask. Her marks are on you and on your mate. She made you the Elderlings that you are. Your child has inherited from you the distinctive traits of the dragon who made you. For him to survive, the one who left her marks upon you must alter them so he can grow.¡¯ He snorted, and his rank carrion-scented breath smelled to Malta like death and despair. Perhaps he tried to be gentle as he said, ¡®You should not have bred without the permission of your dragon.¡¯


    ¡®What?¡¯ Reyn demanded, fury scarcely caged in his voice.


    Malta made a small and hasty motion with her hand, trying to caution him to calmness but as he stepped forward, his anger was like a cold cloud around him. Malta more felt than saw several of the dragon keepers who had accompanied them step closer to them. Plainly, what she was now hearing was news to them as well. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw flecks of fury in one girl¡¯s eyes. Thymara, yes, that was her name.


    ¡®Permission?¡¯ the winged girl repeated in a low voice full of outrage.


    Alise suddenly held up her hands as if by doing so she could quell the mood of the Elderlings or at least bid them suppress their frustrations. ¡®Please. Malta, if you will, allow me to ask a few questions.¡¯ She stepped between Reyn and the dragon, as if her small body could shelter him from the dragon¡¯s wrath. Mercor¡¯s eyes were spinning faster, with tiny flecks of red in them. Malta held Ephron closer and reached out to seize Reyn¡¯s hand. He put his arm around both of them, but did not allow her to retreat. Mercor¡¯s keeper stood biting her lip.


    Alise glanced back at them nervously and then lifted her voice. ¡®Mercor, most gracious and golden of all dragons, font of wisdom and power, have patience with us, we plead. What you tell us confounds us, and we seek only to understand.¡¯


    Even in an Elderling robe, standing as tall as she could before the dragon, the Trader woman looked short and round now. Her body had not changed, Malta realized. It was her contrast to the tall and willowy Elderlings that surrounded her that made her seem like a different creature from them. Yet all the dragons seemed to treat her with respect. Certainly she seemed most adept at speaking to them. Malta was as frustrated as she was frightened, but bit back her anger and made not a sound. Alise had kept the golden dragon¡¯s attention when he had seemed on the point of dismissing them all. He looked at her, and pleasure at her praise seemed to shimmer off his golden scales like heat from a stove.


    ¡®Ask your questions, then,¡¯ he invited her.


    Malta clutched at Reyn¡¯s arm. She could feel the ridged muscles in his forearms and knew how difficult it was for him to restrain himself. After days of waiting for the dragons to converge and have speech with them, it seemed that all they could tell them was that Ephron must die. Had they come so far and waited so long just to hear what she had most feared from the moment of his birth? She looked down into the little face she held so close to her breast. Her son was swaddled in an Elderling tunic to keep the cold and damp from him, but even so, he never seemed warm to her touch. His dragon scaling was bright where it outlined his brow and the line of his nose, but his human flesh below it seemed greyish, and he was so thin. The little hand that had ventured outside his coverings clutched at her with fingers more like a bird¡¯s bony talons than a child¡¯s fat fingers. An ache sharper than any physical pain she had ever endured stabbed her every time she looked at him. So tiny and so brief a life, and he had never known a moment of ease or contentment.


    Alise was speaking. ¡®For generations, the folk of the Rain Wilds have suffered the deaths of their children, children born too Changed to survive. Those who have lived have taken on some aspects of Elderlings that we have seen depicted on ancient tapestries, but they too go to early graves. All these things the Rain Wild Traders have accepted as the cost of living where they do. Yet in all those days, there were no dragons to wreak changes on them. Why, then, wise Mercor, did they have to endure such hardships?¡¯

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    The dragon¡¯s head was held high and he appeared to be looking off into the distance. Was he thinking, or merely wishing the puny humans would leave him alone so that he could safely launch himself back into the air and return to hunting?


    He spoke reluctantly. ¡®Humans are vulnerable to dragons. Of old, we changed some of you deliberately, to better fit you to be companions and servants to our kind. You lived such a short time that it was nearly impossible for us to achieve full communication with a human before it died. And so we allowed and shaped change for those who seemed most fit to live alongside us. But soon humans learned that any exposure to dragons and the things of dragons could change any human, and that those changes were not always beneficial. So those who took pleasure and found purpose in serving the dragons built their cities and their works, lived alongside us and took joy in serving us. They cherished the ways we could change them.


    ¡®Those who wished to remain unchanged ventured into those cities but seldom and knowing the risk involved. Here, in Kelsingra, Elderlings lived. Humans lived and worked in a different settlement, across the river. Others lived outside the city, where they tended herds or grew crops far from the Silver-streaked stone walls of the city. Risks were known, and those who took the risks did so of their own will. We did no wilful harm to humans; if harm was done, they brought it on themselves.¡¯


    Was it the dragon¡¯s words alone or did he summon memories from the stone? Malta felt entranced, as if she saw and heard the things he related. She could see this square thronged with folk, talking together in the spring sunshine. A silver-gloved Elderling with three elaborate marionettes dangling from his hands shouted to three tall, slender women carrying gleaming pipes. One lifted hers to her lips and tweetled a reply to him, and several passers-by laughed at the exchange. Through the Elderlings came a lumbering violet dragon, his wings chased with silver, wearing an elaborate golden harness covered with a thousand tiny round bells. The crowd parted for him and many an Elderling shouted a greeting or made an obeisance to him as he passed. The bells made a sweet, shrill jingling. Mercor¡¯s ancestor? The glorious scene of prosperity and plenty faded and she once more stood in the windy plaza hearing his words.


    ¡®While dragons were gone from the world and Elderlings, too, humans came into the lands where once we had prospered. You discovered the magic creations of the Elderlings and the places they had shared with dragons. You handled their works and lived where dragons had walked and lived. Enough influence remained that those who lived there changed. But the changes were random, not shaped by a dragon, and often displeasing or dangerous.


    ¡®So you keepers were when you first came to serve us. Contorted by proximity to the things of dragons, but not on the path to being true Elderlings. But, with a bit of blood to bond you to us, we could shape you to be more pleasing. For there is Silver in dragon blood, and we are most powerful when our blood is rich with it. Deprived of Silver as we have been, each of us yet still has the power to shape an Elderling to our service. So, we have Changed you, made you Elderlings, and if later you attempt to have children, we may shape them as well. But no dragon can change what another dragon has begun, any more than a human can change the aspects of another human¡¯s child. Tintaglia herself might be able to aid your baby, but none of us can.¡¯


    There was nothing of apology in his tone, and a cold part of Malta wondered if dragons could even grasp the concept of regretting something they had done, or feeling responsible for the pain their carelessness could cause. Her fear vanished suddenly, leaving only her fury. If her son could not live, what did it matter what this dragon might do to her? She stepped forward suddenly, almost shouldering Alise aside to stand before Mercor. She felt her skin flush with her anger and knew that the crest on her brow and her scaling took on brighter colours as she did so.


    ¡®I never asked for this!¡¯ Her low voice was swollen with anger and sorrow. ¡®Tintaglia never sought our permission for the changes Reyn and I have experienced, let alone warned us that our baby might suffer for them. Our changes brought beauty and pleasure to us, but we would not have accepted them if we had known the price! Nor did I ever take blood from Tintaglia! So how can this change in me be her doing?¡¯


    The dragon tucked his head and looked down on her. His black eyes were spinning with silver glints that seemed to ride that ominous whirlpool. But his response was thoughtful rather than angry. ¡®You were near her at some point. Did you run your hands over the cocooned dragon? Share long thoughts with her, perhaps, breathe the warmth of her breath?¡¯


    Reyn spoke quietly, to her rather than the dragon. ¡®Selden and I were there when she melted her way out of her case. The air was thick with the stench of dragon; we both breathed it in.¡¯

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    ¡®I was there, too, in that same chamber. And Sa knows I shared thoughts with her during that time. But¡ª¡¯


    Mercor made a sudden sound of impatience, cutting her off. He looked up at the morning sky, as if he longed to take flight and begin his day¡¯s hunt. The other dragons had already left. He alone remained and she sensed he would not stay much longer. When he returned his gaze to Malta, the ebon liquid of his great eyes spun more slowly. A long moment passed as he studied her. Great puzzlement and curiosity were conveyed as he asked, ¡®Why do you ask so many questions, Malta Vestrit Khuprus?¡¯ Malta could feel how he tried gently to compel a truthful answer by the use of her full name. ¡®You have been touched with Silver in a purposeful way. The smell of that magic is all over you and wakes my thirst for it. Why do you ask questions when it seems to me you must know the answers very well indeed?¡¯


    ¡®Me? Tintaglia marked me with blue, not silver!¡¯ She looked at the scaling on her arms, trying to discover the meaning of his words.


    Mercor snorted out his disdain. ¡®You bear the mark of Silver, on the back of your neck. I can smell it on you still, even though you have worn it for years. Someone touched you, with skill and purpose, and sent you on your way to fulfil a great task.¡¯ The dragon leaned close to her, and she saw her own shocked face reflected in his gleaming black eye. ¡®Whence came the Silver that marks the back of your neck? You must know how great our need for it is! You come to us, asking this favour, but hide from us the source of your Silver that began your change.¡¯


    Malta¡¯s hand flew to the back of her neck. ¡®I don¡¯t know what you are talking about!¡¯ she proclaimed in confusion. But she did know of the faint silvery scaling there, each mark the size of a fingerprint. Never before had she associated it with a dragon. The marks had been there since the day her family had launched the Paragon, long before the fall of Bingtown had sent her fleeing to the Rain Wilds and ultimately to the cocooned dragon¡¯s chamber. No dragon had put them upon her. She held Tintaglia responsible for many things in her life, but not those marks.


    Reyn spoke out in her defence. ¡®She has always had those marks. Birthmarks when first I glimpsed them, just dusky smudges, now made silver by her changes. That is all they are. We keep nothing from you, great dragon. Whatever we have is yours, if you will just save our child. Take my life, eat me now if you wish, but let my son know a moment of peace and calm!¡¯ And then the man Malta loved more than life fell to his knees and offered the golden dragon his bent neck.


    ¡®Oh, please,¡¯ she moaned, knowing how ravenous the dragon was. But Mercor did not move to strike. If anything, his stillness became that of stone. All around her the gathered keepers kept silent. Sylve kept her hand on her dragon¡¯s shoulder, and Alise stood with both her hands clasped over her mouth as if to seal in a scream of terror.


    Then the dragon slowly swung his head away. ¡®You speak those words as if you believed them true. You know nothing useful, I fear. Tintaglia¡¯s Elderlings, I cannot help your babe. But if you have any loyalty to dragonkind ¡­¡¯ He lifted his head high and suddenly trumpeted the words loud, issuing his command to every keeper there: ¡®Find the Silver well for us! She is proof that one still exists, somewhere! In her lifetime, someone has touched Silver and shared that touch with her. If you care for us at all, make this your quest now. For until it is found, no Elderling magic can be done, no dragon can prosper! Find the Silver well for us.¡¯


    ¡®If we find this Silver well for you, will you then save my baby?¡¯ Malta tried recklessly for a bargain. She knew nothing of Silver. Offering it was her last hope.


    The dragon looked at her a final time. ¡®I have told you. Only Tintaglia can save your child. Reach for her, Elderling. Tell your dragon of your plight and perhaps she will come to aid you.¡¯ He turned away and Sylve lifted her hand and stepped out of his way. He did not look at Malta as he added, ¡®But do not have great hopes. Tintaglia did not come to us when we needed her. If she would not come for dragons, I doubt she will come for an Elderling.¡¯


    Malta could not breathe. Did the dragon know he had just condemned her child to death? Did he understand what it meant to them? He looked at her, and his slender keeper shook her head slowly. A sense of Mercor¡¯s sympathy reached Malta, but it was the same sort of sympathy she would have extended to a child with a wilted flower. The dragon did not grasp her agony.


    ¡®But cannot one of you¡ª¡¯ Reyn began, but Malta was already turning away from them all.


    ¡®Let¡¯s just go,¡¯ she said quietly. ¡®If this must be, let us just go somewhere private and be with him while we can.¡¯ She walked away, not so much from Reyn as from the gathered keepers and the dragon. Some things were too hard to bear, and the scrutiny of outsiders only made them worse. She began to tremble as she walked, a shuddering she could not control. Reyn was suddenly at her side, putting his arm around both of them and guiding her staggering steps. Behind her, the muttering of voices rose but she did not look back. She and Reyn could do nothing for Ephron except be with him as his little life ended. So that was what they would do.

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    ¡®Get up here. Now.¡¯ The Chalcedean barked the order as if it had been Hest¡¯s idea to stay below decks after the sun was up.


    He had awakened from his chill and cramped sleep as soon as the locker was opened. Even so, it was hard to move quickly. Hest was still blinking at the light as he emerged onto the deck. Early morning, he estimated, and for a blessing, it was not raining at the moment. He looked about hastily, trying to gauge the situation quickly. The boat was moving slowly upriver, the rowers steady at their oars. The other impervious boat was following them. He stared at the other craft for a moment, wondering if they followed under duress or if they were allied now.


    The Chalcedean had no patience with his curiosity. ¡®Not there!¡¯ He cuffed Hest, then pointed ahead of them, and Hest¡¯s jaw dropped at what he saw. Ahead of them was a low spit of grassy mud projecting into the river. Amid the rushes, the dragon was curled like a huge blue cat, asleep and glittering in the wan afternoon light. The Chalcedean spoke in a low voice. ¡®We are going to kill it. But we need to know everything you know about dragons. Does it have a vulnerable spot? If it awakens before we manage a quick kill, how will it respond to our attack?¡¯


    Hest shook his head. ¡®I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never tried to kill a dragon! Look at the size of that animal. You¡¯d have to be mad to attack it!¡¯ The assassin gave him a dangerous look and Hest reconsidered his tack. What did he know? Only what he had heard. He cleared his throat and spoke more calmly. ¡®When the Chalcedeans invaded Bingtown, a dragon helped us fight them off. A blue one, like that one but much smaller. She was able to spit acid, sometimes as a mist that rained down on ranks of men and sometimes in a spray aimed at one man. She also used her wings and her tail to lash at the ships and the warriors. She had clawed feet, too. But what I am telling you is what I was told. I never actually saw her fighting. I wasn¡¯t in that part of the city.¡¯ He hadn¡¯t been in Bingtown at all for those weeks, in truth, but had fled with his mother to their country house. The marauders had never penetrated that far inland.


    ¡®Useless!¡¯ The Chalcedean dismissed him, turning away to speak to another of his party. They conversed in Chalcedean, and they were either unaware that Hest was a fluent speaker of that tongue or did not care if he overheard them.


    ¡®We will put in here, downriver of it, and approach on foot. The creature is far larger than expected, from what our spies have told us of the Rain Wild dragons. We have two archers, and they must go first. Aim for an eye and perhaps we will kill it as it sleeps. If it awakes, then send in everyone else with pikes.¡¯


    The other man shook his head. ¡®Lord Dargen, it is too dangerous. When we captured the other vessel, as you commanded, we lost men we could not afford to lose. We are already spread too thin manning both vessels. If you take most of our men off both ships to attack the dragon and the attack fails, there will not be enough of us left to man one ship. We will all die here.¡¯


    The assassin ¨C Lord Dargen ¨C stared at his companion as if he were stupid. ¡®This is why we came. To kill a dragon, to butcher it, and to return to Chalced as swiftly as we may.¡¯ He shook his head, and then smiled. ¡®We may all die here, or we may all die somewhere else, or all our families may die while we are here thinking of ways to save our own lives. It is done. We are marching toward death as soon as we are born. The only hope a man has is that his family line will remain, that his sons will go forward to father more sons, and that his name will be remembered by them. If I do not soon bring to the Duke¡¯s feet that which he desires, all futures will be lost to me. So, I risk my life today, in the hopes that my memory will go on forever if I succeed. Put in to shore. I myself will lead the men.¡¯ He jerked his head at Hest. ¡®Put my servant back in his den. He is useless and I do not want him underfoot.¡¯


    The man seized Hest by the arm and jostled him along. As he was shoved unceremoniously and without benefit of ladder below decks, Hest knew that he was receiving the treatment the man longed to inflict on Lord Dargen himself.


    ¡®Lord Dargen,¡¯ he muttered as he stood up. ¡®Now I have his name! A thread I can follow to deliver vengeance to his door.¡¯ He spoke the words aloud, but in the cold wooden space they sounded as hollow as a child¡¯s threats against the father who has sent him to his room. He folded himself into the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees, and tried not to think what would become of him if the dragon attacked the ship. He¡¯d be helpless, trapped like a rat in the bilge as the ship went down. Cold water. He never imagined he¡¯d die drowning in cold water.

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    Tintaglia lifted her head and unlidded her eyes. Outrage that anyone dared approach her while she was sleeping flooded her. Humans, clustering close, weapons raised! She surged to her feet, tail lashing, and roared at the sudden pain that swept her as her injury opened and fresh fluid ran down her side.


    ¡®Leave me!¡¯ she demanded, and as her command washed against the men facing her, the first barrage of arrows struck. She was in motion, but three still struck her face. They rattled off her, one striking her ridged brow, and the two others hitting just below her eye. Plainly her eye had been the target, and in that instant she realized fully that they intended to kill her. She turned her shoulder and flank to them, showing them only the most heavily scaled parts of her body. At the same time, she slashed her tail and men tumbled, either victims of her blow or of their own frantic efforts to avoid it. She became aware of the other men moving up on her: they were trying to surround her!


    One man ran forward, a pike in his hands. His face was set in a rictus of fear and determination. One of her ancestors had known such a charge, and so she did not rear back onto her hind legs and expose her softer belly. Her wings she kept clapped tight to her sides lest they see her swollen wound and know her vulnerability. Instead, she threw her head back on her long neck and then snapped it forward, opening her mouth to hiss out a cloud of venom.


    But nothing emerged from her wide-open jaws. Her poison sacs were empty, victim to her long illness. The warriors cowered and one man screamed as the mist of saliva engulfed them. When, a few instants later, they realized they were unhurt, they whooped triumphantly and surged at her in a wild charge.


    She willed herself to spin tightly, to meet their attack with a savage lash of her tail. Instead, she moved as ponderously as a wounded buffalo, limping as she slowly wheeled away from them. They were on her, jabbing at her with their spears and shrieking. All she could sense from their thoughts was fear and triumph and bloodlust, just as if she were battling jackals for the rights to a kill. She swept her tail, knocking some of them down, while others leapt back and jeered at her.


    ¡®You will pay!¡¯ she roared at them, and from one or two of their minds sensed astonishment that an animal could speak. But the others were deaf to her words, as so many humans were. They came at her again, thudding their useless spears against her heavy scaling. She turned toward them again, thinking of charging at them and crushing as many as she could with her jaws. But a spear flew, striking dangerously close to her eye, and she knew a sudden jolt of fear. These humans could kill her. They were not shepherds trying to drive her away from their flock, nor hunters trying to defend their prey from her. They had come here to kill her.


    She roared again and there was a small satisfaction in seeing some of them hastily retreat. But others set their spears at the ready and ran toward her.


    Tintaglia had no choice. She staggered toward them, stiffly and then in a lumbering charge, whipping her head from side to side, sending one man flying into the rushes and flattening another. She trod on her screaming victim as she passed, vindictively flexing her foot to be sure her nails scored him well.


    Once past them, there was no escape save the river in front of her. She could not take flight; she needed time to limber her muscles and space to gather herself for that first painful leap into the air. She lashed her tail as she thundered past them and knew the satisfaction of feeling it connect and hearing a man scream. She did not look back. Better to appear that she was merely stalking off rather than fleeing.


    The river awaited. She did not pause, but waded into it. Her enemies had nosed their vessels onto the bank downstream of her. So the humans had abandoned whatever quarrel they had with each other to unite in coming after her! She thought about destroying the ships in passing, but doubted her strength. Instead, she waded chest-deep in the water and started upriver. If they wanted to come after her, they¡¯d have to reboard their vessels and man the oars. And if they did come up on her in the water, she thought she could possibly tip a boat over, or at least destroy a bank of oars.


    She heard them shouting in frustration on the bank behind her. A spear splashed into the water beside her, and an arrow struck her back plates, lodged briefly between two of them and then fell. Stupid insects, daring to attack her! If she hadn¡¯t already been injured, there would have been nothing but smoking meat and shattered wood left of them and their ships!


    She took another step and then the river water penetrated beneath her tightly clasped wings and she trumpeted in furious pain as the icy water found her wound with an acid kiss. Lurching on, she stumbled to her knees as the agony stabbed into her deeper than the arrowhead had ever penetrated. The men on the shore screamed and whooped like monkeys as they watched her sink, her legs collapsing under her. She turned to look back at them, and shrieked a thought out on a wild blast of anger: You will all die! I give you a dragon¡¯s promise unending. All humans who attack dragons die!

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    She sent that blast of anger winging wide, a desperate message to the distant dragons of Kelsingra. As the pain stabbed deeper into her and the cold water sucked the warmth from her flesh, she wondered if any heard it.


    Day the 5th of the Plough Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From the Bird Keepers¡¯ Guild


    Notice of Commendation


    To be posted at all Guild Halls


    We are most pleased to announce this honour for Erek Dunwarrow, formerly a Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown, and a Master Bird-Handler in good standing with the Guild. With this commendation, we recognize his significant contributions to the bird-breeding programme at Bingtown, specifically the programme for breeding birds for hardiness and swiftness.


    A prize of sixty silvers is hereby awarded to him, and the further honour that birds of this particular lineage and colouration will now be formally named as Dunwarrows.


    CHAPTER ELEVEN


    Silver


    ¡®There were some wonderful places up near the foothills. Smaller, but with sweeping views. Closer to hunting.¡¯ Carson added the last in a lower voice, knowing that hunting was not really one of the criteria that topped Sedric¡¯s list. He turned his eyes toward the hills and cliffs that backed the city and stared wistfully at their forested flanks.


    ¡®Closer to the wild lands. And farther from everything else,¡¯ Sedric pointed out with a wry smile.


    ¡®From the river, perhaps,¡¯ Carson countered. ¡®But closer to everything else that we need right now to live independently. The hunting is good in the wooded hills; the dragons prefer to hunt the more open lands. And there are trees that may bear nuts or fruit. There will almost certainly be wild berries. The supplies that Captain Leftrin brought back from Cassarick won¡¯t last for ever. We shouldn¡¯t be waiting until they run out before we worry about it. We should be stocking up on meat now, and scouting for other food sources.¡¯


    ¡®I think I¡¯ve heard this before,¡¯ Sedric said quietly, and Carson suddenly stopped in mid-breath.


    Then he laughed. ¡®I know. I say the same things over and over again. Usually to you, because I sometimes think you¡¯re the only one listening to me. The others act like children, thinking only of this day, this hour.¡¯


    ¡®The others listen, too. They¡¯re just enjoying a brief respite from daily hunts and work on the dock and every other task you urge them to undertake. They are young, Carson. And suddenly they have tea and jam and ship¡¯s biscuit again. Give them a few more days, and then I¡¯ll help you persuade some of them to go on an extended hunt again. But for now, can¡¯t we take a bit of time for ourselves? There¡¯s a house I want to show you. I think you¡¯d like it.¡¯


    ¡®A house?¡¯ Carson cocked his head and grinned. ¡®Or a mansion?¡¯


    It was Sedric¡¯s turn to shrug ruefully. ¡®Well, any house in Kelsingra is bound to seem a mansion to you. The Rain Wilds taught all of you to build small. But there¡¯s a street of houses I walked through a few days ago that intrigued me. And yes, they are large, even by Bingtown standards. But the one I went into had garden rooms in it, with transparent ceilings. So, although we might be a long way from the forest or foothills, we might be able to grow food right in our home.¡¯


    ¡®If we had seed¡ª Oh, very well. Let¡¯s look at it,¡¯ Carson conceded as Sedric shot him a long-suffering look. ¡®I suppose you are right, and Leftrin did say that he did put in an order for seed and chickens and so on. I just never imagined myself tending a garden. Or raising birds to eat.¡¯


    ¡®I never imagined myself as an Elderling,¡¯ Sedric countered. ¡®Carson, I think we are going to have a lot of years to explore many kinds of lives. We may farm, or raise cattle ¡­¡¯


    ¡®Or hunt.¡¯


    ¡®Or hunt. Here. I think this is the right street. Kelsingra is so big and so spread out. Every time I think I¡¯ve learned the city, I find another street to explore. Up this way, I think. Or was it downhill from here?¡¯


    Carson chuckled tolerantly. ¡®Did you notice if there was a view? If so, that would be uphill.¡¯ He halted and watched Sedric look up and down the street. He straightened the collar of his tunic. He had to admit that the clothing Sedric had chosen for him was comfortable. And warm. And weighed less than his leathers. He glanced down at himself, at his legs clad in a blue that reminded him of a parrot¡¯s wings. Elderling garb. At least the boots were brown. They were so light, he felt as if he had nothing on, and yet his feet weren¡¯t cold and the stones underfoot didn¡¯t jab him. The wide brown belt he wore was of Elderling make, as was the sheathed knife he wore on it. The blade wasn¡¯t metal. He wasn¡¯t sure what it was, but it had been razor sharp from the moment he drew it from the sheath and it had stayed that way. It looked like blue, baked pottery to him more than anything else. Yet another Elderling mystery.

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    The more the keepers explored the city, the more artefacts they found. True, most of the houses and shops and buildings were empty, as if the people who had lived here had packed and left. But in some sections of the city, they were finding mansions and homes that held all sorts of Elderling items. Most items of wood had crumbled to dust, and scrolls and books had likewise decayed. But some of their fabrics had survived, especially of the sort that his tunic was made from, and it was not unusual any more to see keepers ringed and necklaced as if they were wealthy Bingtown Traders. It made Carson uneasy, though he had difficulty expressing why. Just as deciding which house to take over as their own made him uncomfortable. He and Sedric had been sharing chambers above the dragon baths, and even these had seemed a sybaritic luxury to him. He wasn¡¯t sure that he understood why Sedric wanted a large and elaborate home. But he deserved one, if that was what he wanted.


    He glanced over at him and had to smile. Sedric looked so intent, as alert as any hunter, as he prowled down the street studying the grand houses that fronted it. The move to Kelsingra had agreed with him. Carson was a fastidious man about cleanliness, when such a state was possible, but Sedric elevated it to an art form. His hair gleamed gold, touched with the metallic sheen that Relpda had awarded to every part of him. To his eyes and his skin, his nails and even his hair she had lent coppery warmth. Today Sedric had chosen to echo that gleam with metallic blues in his tunic and hose, while his belt and boots were black. The Elderling garb wore so well, Carson thought no one needed more than one extra change of clothing. But Sedric had appropriated a rainbow for his wardrobe and took unutterable joy in varying his garb, sometimes several times a day. Even if Carson did not understand his partner¡¯s infatuation with clothing, it did not diminish his delight in watching him exercise it. Sedric felt Carson¡¯s scrutiny and turned to the hunter with a questioning look.


    ¡®What?¡¯ he demanded.


    Carson¡¯s smile widened. ¡®Just you. That¡¯s all.¡¯


    A blush suffused Sedric¡¯s face, rendering him both more boyish and yet more charming. And that he blushed because he was overwhelmed by Carson¡¯s compliment only magnified the effect for the hunter. He jostled Sedric with an elbow and then put an arm around him. ¡®Which house?¡¯ he asked him genially, knowing that if, at that moment, Sedric declared he wished to live in all of them at once, he¡¯d have done his best to make it possible.


    ¡®Wait!¡¯ Sedric said sharply. He shrugged out from under Carson¡¯s arm and strode briskly away. For a moment, Carson felt hurt; then he recognized the intensity of Sedric¡¯s stalking. An odd prickle of premonition ran up his own spine as he stared around.


    This was a district of elaborate houses, and almost every intersection boasted a fountain or a statue or plaza of some sort. Any of the structures were palatial by Carson¡¯s standards, but Sedric was moving steadily downhill, ignoring their allure. He strode through a small square with a statue of a woman pouring water and turned deliberately into a street of humbler houses. The thoroughfares went from broad avenues fit for a parade of dragons to wide but winding streets and the buildings changed to a more human scale as they moved along it. Odd. Carson had never imagined that such simple dwellings might attract his peacock lover. Sedric moved strangely, peering from side to side, not like a man who considers the houses he passes but as if trying to find something he¡¯d lost. No. Like a man who had lost his way, Carson suddenly realized, and was looking for a landmark. He lifted his own eyes and scanned the area. Like all of Kelsingra, it was built of stone, and here a bluish-grey stone predominated. He noticed nothing noteworthy. Cautiously, he opened his awareness of the city and let the impressions of Elderlings long dead touch his thoughts.


    He had always felt a bit squeamish about this aspect of being an Elderling. A private man himself, it felt strange to wallow in the personal memories of others. The other keepers seemed to take it in their stride, and personally he did not blame those who chose to enjoy the sensual memories of another time. In such a small population, it was better for them to satisfy their needs that way than to jostle and fight for the available partners. And he knew there was valuable information to be gained in sharing memories from the stones ¨C technical information on the workings of the city in addition to knowledge of the ways of dragons and the surrounding lands. He knew that Sedric enjoyed tapping the memory-stones in the same way that he had enjoyed going to plays or listening to minstrels. The stones of the city were full of stories, some dramatic, some poignant. But no other part of the city had felt the way this one did. It was quiet. No memories stirred here, no brief waft of scent or echo of someone¡¯s laughter from a long-ago summer day. Here the city was mute, hoarding its secrets in silence. Sedric glanced back at him, bafflement on his face, and Carson sensed his partner had just shared the same realization.

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    ¡®What are you looking for?¡¯ he called to Sedric, and his words bounced back to him from the silent stone.


    ¡®I¡¯m not sure.¡¯ Sedric stared all around him like a man wakening from a dream. ¡®The streets just suddenly seemed very familiar. As if I¡¯d been here before, and often. For an important reason. But every time I try to remember that part of the memory, it fades out of reach. But in an odd way. The Elderling memories I¡¯ve taken from stone usually stay with me clearly. But this is like fog ¡­¡¯


    ¡®In a purposeful way.¡¯ Carson finished the thought for him.


    ¡®Yes. As if something were being deliberately concealed.¡¯


    The buildings that they passed now were no longer homes or mansions, but were designed to allow dragons to enter as freely as humans. They walked quietly past them, their softly shod feet whispering on the paving stones.


    ¡®It¡¯s older here,¡¯ Sedric said suddenly. ¡®The way the streets are paved, the buildings ¡­ this is older than the part of the city where the dragon baths are, or that grand Hall of Records with the map tower.¡¯


    ¡®I suspect this is where Kelsingra began.¡¯ Carson nodded to where worn steps went down into a building¡¯s entrance. ¡®It seems to me it would take a lot of feet walking down stone steps before they were worn like that. And these buildings are actually lower than the street, if you look at it. As if the streets have been repaired and raised.¡¯ In reply to Sedric¡¯s startled glance, Carson looked aside. ¡®I¡¯ve never been there, but I¡¯ve heard that Old Jamaillia is like that. One fellow who had been there told me that openings that used to be first-floor windows are doors now, the streets have been built up so much.¡¯


    Sedric nodded, a slow smile curving his lips. ¡®I have been there, and you¡¯re right. Strange. I was looking right at it and not really seeing it.¡¯


    For a time, they walked in silence. The streets grew narrower and the buildings humbler, as if when people had first settled here, they had not known the full ambition of Elderlings. Carson found that Sedric had drawn closer to him. Carson linked arms with him, and felt himself more alert than he usually was in this city. The din of memories simply didn¡¯t exist in this part of the city. Perhaps it had been built before the Elderlings had gained the magic of storing memories in stone. The scuff of their footsteps on the cobblestones seemed louder, the warmth of Sedric¡¯s skin under his fingers more intimate. All his senses were keener here. He felt more himself, and wondered uneasily who he had been before.


    ¡®There!¡¯ Sedric said suddenly, and pointed.


    ¡®What is it?¡¯ Carson asked. Recognition tickled at the back of his mind but he could not summon the memory.


    ¡®I don¡¯t know,¡¯ Sedric admitted. ¡®I only know it¡¯s important.¡¯


    Carson shivered suddenly but not with a chill. Something else. Danger? Anticipation? He lifted his head and sniffed the air, wondering if the scent of a predator had triggered it. Nothing. But an almost sexual excitement infused him suddenly, and as it tingled through his body, he recognized it was not his own. Spit, never far from him in thought, knew something about this place. Or almost did. Somewhere, the little silver dragon had tipped his wings, ignoring the dozing deer below him. He was winging back to the city as fast as he could. Carson stared around him, trying to see what his dragon had glimpsed through his eyes.


    ¡®It¡¯ was an open plaza, not as wide nor as grand as many in the newer part of the city. In the centre of it was a tumble of rubble. The destruction looked both deliberate and recent; or at least much more recent than the other quake damage to the city. A length of black chain coiled like a dead snake. Timbers of green and gold and red had been rendered to kindling. They approached the collapsed structure slowly, and Sedric was the first to speak. ¡®It¡¯s sticking out of a hole there. See the low wall around it, or what is left of it? It looks like a well, for drawing water, but much wider. But with a river so close by, why would they dig a well here?¡¯


    ¡®It wasn¡¯t for water,¡¯ Carson said quietly. He listened to his own words as if someone else were speaking them, then fell silent, chasing an elusive idea. At last he spoke a single word. ¡®Silver,¡¯ he said aloud, echoing his dragon¡¯s thought, and then shook his head in denial. ¡®It makes no sense.¡¯


    But Sedric seemed to grow taller, as if he were a puppet and someone had just drawn his head string up. His eyes opened wider. ¡®Silver? SILVER!¡¯ He shouted the word. ¡®This is it, Carson. From my dreams. The Silver place. Sweet Sa, you¡¯re right. This is the Silver well, the whole reason Kelsingra was first built. Remember, a long time ago, you wondered why they¡¯d built such a grand city here. What was the reason for it, what trade, what industry, what port anchored it? Why build a city for dragons in a place so chill and damp in the winters? Why did the Elderlings stay here? And here¡¯s our answer. The Silver well. The secret heart of Kelsingra.¡¯

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    Carson blinked. Sedric¡¯s words had filled his ears, flooding his mind with vague memories, linking half-thoughts and hints into an almost recognizable network. ¡®Secret, indeed. Knowledge kept from outsiders. Only Elderlings were allowed to come here, to this part of the city.¡¯ He breathed deeply and it was as if he inhaled information. He frowned as another thought drifted into his mind. ¡®And not all Elderlings. Only a few had the privilege of this duty. It was a closely kept secret, not just from the outside world, but even within the city. Memories of it were never preserved in the stone, at least not intentionally. It was passed down, from one generation of well-tenders to the next. Silver was so rare, so precious, that the well sites could not be mapped nor recorded in memory-stone. Like a guild secret that only masters could know. A secret so precious that even the dragons did not speak of it to dragons from other hatching grounds.¡¯ His gaze went sad and distant. ¡®A resource so precious, it was probably the only thing dragons would war over with one another.¡¯


    ¡®How do you know?¡¯ Sedric demanded curiously.


    Carson lifted his shoulders and let them fall in a slow shrug. ¡®Some of it comes from Spit, but even he didn¡¯t have enough to puzzle it out. I¡¯ve been deliberately seeking out the places where people stored memories of how the city worked. The water system, the heated buildings, how the stones were fitted so well to one another. I like to know how things are done, how things were done. I have found a lot of information about what they did, but little about how. I think those same people who left stone memories of what they did tended this well, and ¡­ did something else here. It¡¯s not clear to me. But I think that, without intending to, they stored bits of those memories with the other ones. Enough for me to puzzle it together and get a feeling for it. Like following a game trail with no tracks. A bent stick, a torn leaf ¡­¡¯


    For a moment, his vision dimmed. He blinked and shook his head, and then realized he hadn¡¯t imagined it. The day was darker. He glanced up to find the reason. Overhead, the dragons were gathering in a gyre that spiralled up to block the sun¡¯s thin rays. They circled overhead, coming lower. Spit led the way. In the distance, golden Mercor was coming fast, growing larger. He trumpeted and the others answered. Wordlessly, they were summoning all the keepers to converge here. Carson looked at Sedric; his friend was smiling. ¡®I think they heard me.¡¯


    But as Carson looked up at the circling creatures, he felt a premonition. It became a flood of sensation, jubilation and anticipation making his heart hammer. He knew he felt only an echo of the emotions of the dragons. ¡®Sedric. What is the ¡°Silver well¡±? What is it about the stuff that comes out of it?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m not sure exactly. Mercor said to Malta that all dragons have some Silver naturally, in their blood, that it helps them change us to Elderlings. There has to be more to it than that, given how anxious they are to find it. I think we¡¯ll soon find out just why it¡¯s so important.¡¯


    Thymara jerked as if jabbed with a needle. An instant later, Tats followed her example. She had been dozing in the crook of his arm. They had fallen asleep in the glass-roofed atrium of a building that had once been devoted to flowers. The bas-reliefs on the walls depicted flower blossoms of a kind she had never seen before, and of a size that seemed completely impossible, until Tats had gently suggested to her that the images were made so large in order to show detail. The room they were in was at the top of the building. A flat section of the roof would have allowed dragons to alight and enter through an archway. A maze of large pots and vessels of earth surrounded benches where once Elderlings had sat and discussed the plants. She had tried to imagine having the leisure hours in her life to spend a whole day just looking at flowers, and could not. ¡®Did they eat them?¡¯ she had wondered aloud. ¡®Did they work here, growing them for food?¡¯


    By way of response, Tats wandered over to a statue of a woman holding a basket of flowers and set his fingertips to her hand. His face grew bemused, his gaze distant. She watched his awareness recede from her, slipping into the memories of the woman with the flowers. His eyelids drooped and the muscles of his face loosened as he wandered through her life. His expression became vacant and slack, almost idiotic. She found she didn¡¯t like how he looked, but knew it was useless to speak to him. He¡¯d come back to her when he willed it, and not before.


    Almost as soon as she had the thought, she saw his eyes twitch, and then he blinked. Tats came back into his face and then smiled at her. ¡®No. The flowers were cultivated simply for their beauty and fragrance. They came from far away, from a land much warmer than here, and only inside this room could they flourish. This Elderling wrote seven books about them, describing them in detail and giving directions for their care, and telling how one might force larger blossoms or subtly change the colours and fragrances by using different types of soil and adding things to the water.¡¯

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    Thymara drew her knees up to her chin. The benches were like the bed in her room; they appeared to be stone, until one had been seated for a time. Then they softened, slightly. She shook her head in wonder. ¡®And she devoted months of her life to this work.¡¯


    ¡®No. Years. And was well respected for it.¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t understand.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m starting to. I think it has to do with how long one expects to live.¡¯ He paused and then cleared his throat uncomfortably. ¡®When I think about how long we may have to live, how many years I may be able to spend with you, it lets me think about things differently.¡¯


    She shot him a strange look and he came over to sit on the wide bench next to her. He met her gaze for a time, and then lay back on the bench and stared up at the sky through the dust-streaked glass. ¡®Rapskal and I had a talk. About you.¡¯


    Thymara stiffened. ¡®Did you?¡¯ She heard the chill in her own voice.


    A small smile tweaked Tats¡¯s mouth. ¡®We did. Would you be more pleased if I¡¯d said we¡¯d had a fist fight? I think we both knew it might come to that. Rapskal is changing as he takes on the memories of that Elderling. He¡¯s becoming more ¡­¡¯ He paused, seeking a word. ¡®Assertive,¡¯ he said, and she sensed it was not quite the word he wanted.


    ¡®And he was the one who was wise enough to come to me and say he didn¡¯t want us to end up fighting. That we¡¯d been friends too long to end it for any reason, but especially over jealousy over you.¡¯


    She sat stiffly beside him, trying to decipher not only what she felt but why she felt it. Hurt. Angry. Why? Because she felt they had gone past her, perhaps decided between themselves something that should have been discussed with her. She imposed calm on her voice. ¡®And what did the two of you decide?¡¯


    He didn¡¯t look at her but he reached over and took her hand. She let him hold it but did not return the pressure of his fingers. ¡®We didn¡¯t decide anything, Thymara. It wasn¡¯t that kind of a conversation. Neither one of us is Greft, thinking that we can force you to make a decision. You¡¯ve proven your point to both of us. When or even if you want to be with one of us, you will. And until then ¡­¡¯ He gave a small sigh and then finally looked at her.


    ¡®Until then you wait,¡¯ she said, and felt a small thrill of satisfaction at his understanding that she controlled the situation.


    ¡®I do. Or I don¡¯t.¡¯


    Startled, she met his gaze. It was strange to look at his face now and recall the smooth-skinned boy he had been. His dragon had incorporated his slave tattoo into his scaling, but the horse on his cheek looked more dragonish now. She almost lifted a hand to touch it but held herself back. ¡®What does that mean?¡¯


    ¡®Only that I¡¯m as free as you are. I could walk away. I could find someone else¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Jerd,¡¯ she growled.


    ¡®She¡¯s made it plain, yes.¡¯ He rolled onto his side and tugged at her hand. Reluctantly, she lay down beside him. After a time, the bench adapted to her wings, cradling her. She looked into his eyes, her gaze cold. He smiled. ¡®But I could also be by myself. Or wait for others to come and join us here. Or go looking for someone else. I have time. That¡¯s what Rapskal and I talked about. That if, as seems likely, we may live two or even three hundred years, then we all have time. Nothing has to be rushed. We don¡¯t have to live as if we were children squabbling over toys.¡¯


    Toys. Her, a toy? She tried to pull away from him.


    ¡®No, listen to me, Thymara. I felt the same way when Rapskal first spoke to me. Like he was making what I feel a trivial thing. Like he was telling me to wait and that when he was finished with you, I could have you. But that wasn¡¯t it at all. I thought it was stupid of him, at first, all the time he spent with memory-stone. But I think he¡¯s learned something. He said that the longer life is, the more important it is to keep your friends, to not have quarrels that can be avoided.¡¯ His smile faded a bit and for a time he looked troubled. ¡®He said that, as a soldier, he had learned that a man¡¯s deep friendships were the most important thing he could possess. Things can be broken, or lost. All a man can keep for certain are the things in his mind and heart.¡¯


    He lifted his free hand and traced the line of her jaw. ¡®He said that no matter what you decided, he wanted to stay friends with me. And he asked me if I could do the same. If I could resolve that what you decided was your decision, not something we should blame on the other fellow.¡¯


    ¡®I think that¡¯s what I¡¯ve been trying to tell you,¡¯ Thymara said quietly, but in her heart she wondered if that were so.

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    ¡®He said something else, something I¡¯ve been thinking about. He said that from what he¡¯s remembered from the stones, some of the Elderlings had the same sort of problem. And they solved it by not being jealous. By not limiting each woman to one man. Or each man to one woman.¡¯ He turned to look up at the sky again. She wondered what he didn¡¯t want her to read in his eyes. Did he fear (or hope) that she would agree to that? It was not the first time she had heard such an idea. Jerd had made it plain of late that she would share her favours where she willed, and that none of the male keepers should think she was his simply because she¡¯d shared one night with him. Or a month of nights. Three or four of the keepers had seemed to accept this relationship with her. Thymara had heard a few disparaging remarks from them about her, but she seemed to be gaining a genuine partnership with several of them, one in which her partners seemed as bonded to each other as they were to her. Thymara was sceptical that it would work long term but had resolved to ignore the situation.


    But if that was what Tats was broaching as a solution ¡­ She spoke stiffly: ¡®If that¡¯s what you¡¯re hoping for, I¡¯m sorry, Tats. I can¡¯t be with both you and Rapskal, and be glad of it. Nor can I share you with another, even if she weren¡¯t Jerd. My heart doesn¡¯t work that way.¡¯


    He heaved a sudden sigh of relief. ¡®Neither does mine.¡¯ He rolled to face her and she let him take her hands. ¡®I was willing to compromise if it was the only future you saw. But I didn¡¯t want to. I want you all to myself, Thymara. Even if it means waiting.¡¯


    The depth of feeling in his words took her by surprise. He read it on her face. ¡®Thymara, it¡¯s no accident I¡¯m here in Kelsingra. I came here because of you. I told you and your father that I just wanted the adventure, but I was lying. I was following you, even then. Not just because there was no real future for me in Trehaug, but because I knew that there was no future for me anywhere if you weren¡¯t there. It¡¯s not because you just happen to be here, and I just happen to be here. It¡¯s not because you¡¯re a good hunter, nor even because of how beautiful you¡¯ve become. It¡¯s you. I came here for you.¡¯


    She had no words to reply to him.


    He spoke as if he had to fill the silence. ¡®Some of the others have made me feel like an idiot because I can¡¯t compromise. The other night, after dinner, when you went out walking with Rapskal, Jerd called me aside. She said there was something on a high shelf in her room, something she couldn¡¯t reach. It was a ploy. There was nothing there, but once we were alone, she said that she didn¡¯t have the problems you did with men. That if I wanted her, I could be with her, and then still court you if I thought I wanted you as well. She said she could keep it secret, that you¡¯d never know.¡¯ He looked into Thymara¡¯s eyes and quickly reminded her, ¡®Jerd said it, not me. I didn¡¯t agree to it, and I walked away from what she was offering.¡¯ In a lower voice, he added, ¡®Trusting her is not a mistake I¡¯d make twice. But she did manage to make me feel childish. Foolish that I couldn¡¯t just dispense with the ¡°old rules¡± and ¡°live our lives as we pleased¡±. She laughed at me.¡¯ He paused for a moment and then cleared his throat. ¡®Rapskal made me feel that way, too. And while he didn¡¯t laugh at me, he told me that in a few decades I¡¯d change my mind. He¡¯s so comfortable with these ideas. But I¡¯m not.¡¯


    ¡®Then I suppose I¡¯m as childish and rule-bound as you are. Because I feel the same way.¡¯ She moved her head onto his shoulder and spoke hesitantly. ¡®But if I say that I still don¡¯t feel ready, will you change your mind?¡¯


    ¡®No. I¡¯ve thought it through, Thymara. If I have to wait, then, well, I have the time. We don¡¯t have to rush. We don¡¯t have to rush to have children before we¡¯re twenty because we may not live past forty. The dragons changed that for us. We have time.¡¯


    Then maybe I am ready. She almost said the words aloud. Hearing that he would no longer pressure her to decide, hearing that he understood that, with her, it had to be exclusive, had affirmed something about him. Instead, she said, ¡®You are the man I thought you would be.¡¯


    ¡®I hope so,¡¯ he said. And then they were still for a while, so still that she started to doze off, until Sintara¡¯s excited jab awoke her.


    ¡®Silver!¡¯ she exclaimed, and Tats¡¯s voice almost echoed hers. His dragon¡¯s excitement came through in his inflection. But he gave Thymara a puzzled look. ¡®A silver well? The Silver well?¡¯ He was incredulous. ¡®Did we dream it?¡¯

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    She shook her head at him and grinned. ¡®Sintara says that Carson and Sedric have found it. She showed me where.¡¯ She blinked, the location of the well suddenly reordering her mental map of the city. Of course. It all made sense now. Knowledge seeped up from buried memories; the secret that only Elderlings and dragons must know, the one bit of knowledge that must never be shared with the outside world. The very reason for Kelsingra¡¯s location and existence. She did not smile: it was too immense for that. ¡®It¡¯s dragon Silver. The source of all magic.¡¯


    Selden awoke to low voices. A man¡¯s voice, insistent and almost mocking, a woman¡¯s voice, indignant and venturing toward anger. ¡®I will tell my father.¡¯


    ¡®Who do you think gave me the key? Who do you think ordered the guards to allow me to come and go as I please?¡¯


    ¡®You have not married me! You have no right to touch me! Get away! Stop!¡¯


    It took Selden a time to realize that he was awake, that this was not a dream, and that he recognized the woman¡¯s voice. He dragged himself to a sitting position on the narrow divan. The fire in the little hearth had burned low: it was late at night, then. He looked around the small study. No one was there. A dream, then?


    No. A man¡¯s voice, low and angry, from the next room: ¡®Come here!¡¯


    He clutched his head to make the room stop spinning, then went off into a coughing fit and abruptly the voices in the other room were stilled.


    ¡®You¡¯ve wakened him,¡¯ Chassim exclaimed. ¡®I have to see if he is all right. You would not want him to die before my father has the chance to kill him.¡¯ Her voice was full of disgust for whoever she addressed.


    ¡®He can wait until I¡¯m finished,¡¯ the man replied abruptly. His words were followed by a crash of falling furniture, and then a woman¡¯s shriek, suddenly muffled.


    The long robe she had given him to wear was twisted around his hips and swaddled his legs. Selden swung his legs off the bed and then struggled to free himself. ¡®Chassim!¡¯ he called, and then choked on his coughing. He stood, feeling too tall, swaying like a reed in the wind. His knees started to buckle under him. He grabbed the back of the divan and took two staggering steps until his outstretched hands met the stout wood of the door. He had not been out of this room since he arrived here; he had no idea where the door led. He slapped at the heavy panels and then found the handle and tugged at the catch. The door swung open and he followed it in a stagger. Chassim was pinned on the bed by a heavy man. His one hand clutched her throat while with the other he was dragging her nightrobe up her body. Her hands tugged hopelessly at the hand that choked her. Her head was flung back, her braided hair coming loose, her mouth wide open and her eyes bulging with terror at not being able to breathe.


    ¡®Let her go!¡¯ he shouted, but the words took all his breath. He staggered forward, coughing. He caught at a pot of flowers and threw it at the man. It bounced off his back and fell to the floor, unbroken, rolling in a half circle, spilling soil as it went. The man glanced over his shoulder; his face, already red with passion, went purple with fury. ¡®Out! Get out, or I kill you now, you freak!¡¯


    ¡®Chassim!¡¯ Selden shouted, for her tongue was beginning to protrude from her mouth. ¡®You¡¯re killing her! Let her go!¡¯


    ¡®She is mine to kill! As are you!¡¯ Ellik shouted. He released her, lifting his body off her to come at Selden.


    A brass figurine was at hand. Selden threw it at the Chancellor, and watched it sail past him to land with a thud on the floor. Then Ellik seized him by the front of his robe, lifted him off his feet and shook him like a rag. Selden could not control the wild whipping of his head. He rained blows on his attacker but there was no strength in his hands or arms. An angry child would have fought more effectively. Ellik laughed, mocking and triumphant, and flung Selden aside. He struck the door and clutched at it as he slid down it. Darkness made the room small and then it did not exist at all.


    Someone gripped his shoulders, rolling him onto his back. He flailed, trying to land a telling blow until he heard Chassim say, ¡®Stop it. It¡¯s me. He¡¯s gone.¡¯


    The room was in darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he made out the paleness of her nightrobe, and then the faded gold of her tattered braids hanging around her face. Seeing her face with her hair half loosened around it made him realize she was younger than he had thought. He pushed his own hair back from his face and suddenly realized that he hurt. All over. Badly. It must have showed on his face for she said wearily, ¡®He saved a few kicks for you, on his way out.¡¯


    ¡®Did he hurt you?¡¯ he asked, and saw small sparks of rage light in her eyes at the stupidity of his question.

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    ¡®No. He only raped me. Not even in a very imaginative way. Just plain old-fashioned choking, slapping and rape.¡¯


    ¡®Chassim,¡¯ he said, shocked; almost rebuking her for how callously she dismissed it.


    ¡®What?¡¯ she demanded. Her mouth was swollen but her lip still curled in dismay. ¡®Did you think it my first time? It was not. Or will you pretend to be surprised, and claim that this is not the way of your kind?¡¯


    She touched him kindly as she spoke so harshly, taking him by the shoulders and pulling him to a sitting position. He coughed again and was ashamed when she lifted the corner of her sleeve and wiped his mouth with it. When he could speak, he said, ¡®Among my people, rape is not condoned.¡¯


    ¡®No? But I am sure it still happens all the same.¡¯


    ¡®It does,¡¯ he had to admit. He gently pulled free of her. If she had not been watching, he would have crawled back to the divan. He could feel where Ellik had kicked him. Once in the ribs, once on the hip and once in the head. It hurt, but it could have been worse. Once, he had seen a man beaten down and then stamped upon. It had happened right outside his cage when he had first been put on display. The attackers had all been drunk, all mocking spectators, and he had not felt kindly toward any of them, but he had still screamed at them to stop and yelled for help, for anyone to come and intervene.


    No one had.


    ¡®I tried to make him stop,¡¯ he said. Then he wondered why he had pointed out his own failure to her. He got himself to his feet and crossed the short space to the divan, catching at furniture as he went. When he reached it, he more fell than sat on it.


    Chassim watched him accomplish this, then went to the hearth¡¯s edge and added a stick or two of wood. In a few moments, flame woke and ran along the sticks. In the additional light, he could see her cheek starting to purple. ¡®Yes. You did,¡¯ she said, as if there had been no gap in their conversation. Then she turned to look at him directly. Sitting on the floor, with her braids falling down, her pale nightdress catching light and shadow from the fire, she looked more childish than ever. Like Malta, when she was a girl and he a small boy and they had sometimes crept down to the kitchen at night to see what treats the cook might have tucked away in the pantry. It had been a very long time ago, he suddenly realized. A tiny bit of a pampered childhood that had lasted only a short time before war and hardship had shattered it forever.


    Chassim¡¯s eyes were not a child¡¯s as she asked him, ¡®Why? Why did you do that? He might have killed you.¡¯


    ¡®He was hurting you. It was wrong. And you had been kind to me ¡­¡¯ He was shocked that she would ask him why he had tried to help her. Was it such a strange act? He reached deeper, pulled up a painful honesty. ¡®It happened to me once.¡¯ He blurted out the words and then was horrified. He had never intended to speak of it to anyone. Having someone else know about it made it real.


    She stared at him, her blue eyes wide, and he wondered what she thought of him now. How much less human did it make him in her eyes?


    ¡®How?¡¯ she said at last, and he saw that she did not grasp what he was saying.


    He spoke roughly and suddenly understood her own callousness when she had spoken of what Ellik had just done to her. ¡®There was a man who wanted me. As a novelty, I think, as when some men mate with an animal, just to see what might be different. He paid the man who kept me captive well. My keeper let him into my cage and walked away. And ¡­ it was like he was insane. Like I was a thing, not even an animal. I defied him, and I fought him, and then, eventually, I pleaded, when I knew he was far stronger than I was. It didn¡¯t help. He hurt me. Badly. And then he got off me and walked away. There is something about knowing that someone is taking pleasure in giving you incredible pain ¡­ with no remorse. It changes how you see yourself; it changes what you can believe of other people. It changes everything.¡¯ His words ground to a halt.


    ¡®I know,¡¯ she said simply.


    A silence fell. The fire crackled and he felt more naked than he had when he was displayed bare for all to see. ¡®I was sick for days afterward. Really sick. I had so much pain. I bled and I had a fever. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve been completely healthy since then.¡¯ The words tumbled out of him. He lifted his hand, covered his own mouth to stop them. Tears he had not shed then nor since burned in his eyes. The tears of a torn and battered child, helpless against violence done to him. With his last shred of manhood, of dignity, he fought to hold them back.


    ¡®Flesh rips when you are forced.¡¯ She spoke the harsh fact quietly. ¡®I have heard people, other women, make mock of it. As something that some women deserve, or as a fillip of excitement to the act. Something to pretend, for titillation. I cannot understand it. It makes me want to slap them and choke them until they understand.¡¯ She stood up slowly and he could see the pain it cost her. She took a few breaths and then leaned over him to pull a blanket around him. ¡®Go to sleep,¡¯ she suggested.

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    ¡®Maybe tomorrow will be a better day,¡¯ he dared to say. He coughed again.


    ¡®I doubt it,¡¯ she said, but without bitterness. ¡®But whatever it is, it will be the only day we have.¡¯ She left the room slowly, pausing at the door. ¡®Your dragon,¡¯ she said. She cocked her head at him. ¡®Did it hurt when she changed you?¡¯


    He shook his head slowly. ¡®Sometimes the changes are uncomfortable. But what we shared was worth it. I wish I could explain it better.¡¯


    ¡®Does she know where you are now? Does she know how they hurt you?¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t think so.¡¯


    ¡®If she did, would she come here? To help you?¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯d like to think so,¡¯ he said quietly.


    ¡®So would I,¡¯ she replied. And on those odd words, she left him.


    Day the 5th of the Plough Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Jani Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders, Trehaug


    To Ronica and Keffria Vestrit of the Bingtown Traders, Bingtown


    Keffria, I have taken your advice. A lengthy explanation of Malta¡¯s absence is on its way to you in a wax-sealed packet sent on the liveship Ophelia and entrusted to Captain Tenira. He is, as we all well know, a man of impeccable honour.


    I beg you to hold the information in deepest confidence. I myself am still awaiting more tidings, but I have shared what I know with you. I regret that I must be so evasive and leave you to endure the wait for the packet¡¯s arrival. Right now I share your reluctance to entrust information about confidential family business to Guild birds.


    I share your agony over Selden¡¯s fate. Would that we had even one scrap of certainty of what has befallen him. We have sent a response to Wintrow, telling him we still await news.


    All else here is the best that it can be, given the daily worries that we share for Selden.


    I pray you, if you receive good tidings about our boy, send them as swiftly as possible, by bird. That would be a message I would wish to share with the world.


    May Sa shelter us all!


    Jani


    CHAPTER TWELVE


    Dragon Warrior


    The endless pursuit dragged on and on and on. Hest was sickened by it. It was not that he felt any sympathy for the creature they hunted. It was the utter boredom spiked with sudden uncontrollable danger that roiled his belly.


    The Chalcedean and his fellows were determined to take the dragon, to harvest blood, scale, eyes, flesh, tongue, liver and spleen. And whatever other bits of her they salivated over each night as he waited on them at the galley table. Tonight, the Chalcedean and his cohorts were full of wild optimism. They slammed their mugs on the table for emphasis and praised their own cleverness and courage in persevering so long. The dragon was theirs, and with her death, fame and glory would come to them. They would kill her, plunder her body and go home to fame and riches and, sweetest of all, safety for themselves and their families. The Duke would cease his threats and shower them with gifts and favours. Cherished sons long held hostage in horrific conditions would be restored to them.


    So they spoke by night when darkness forced them to cease their drudging hunt and tie up for the night. By dawn, they would once more stalk the dragon. The damned beast refused to die. She trudged away from them, day after day and possibly long into the night. Each day, the impervious ships battled the current until they caught up with her. Twice she had lain in wait for them and sprung out in a wild attempt to capsize their vessels. She had splintered oars, and eaten two rowers who had fallen or been flung overboard by her attacks. She seemed to take great pleasure in crushing them slowly in her jaws as they shrieked in agony.


    It had not discouraged the Chalcedean. Lord Dargen was relentless.


    Captives had been taken from below decks to replace the rowers who had been lost, chained to oars as if they were slaves. The merchants and Traders were poor replacements for the work-hardened slaves and sailors that had perished. Yet the Chalcedean and his followers seemed not to care that nineteen of twenty arrows shot at the dragon either missed or splashed uselessly into the river. If the twentieth one loosened a scale or stuck for even a moment in a tender part of her body, they roared and screeched victoriously.


    Hest did not see why they put so much effort into it. It seemed plain to him that the dragon was dying. Daily she looked more dilapidated. She was obviously incapable of flight. She carried one of her wings partially open at an odd angle. Her colours were faded and the smell of her was terrible, a stench of rotten meat. Rousted from wherever she had finally taken rest at night, she now put most of her energy into staying out of range of their arrows. Sometimes she sought refuge in the reed-beds at the swampy edge of the river. Lying down, she became almost invisible to them. Then Lord Dargen would force some of his men over the side to harry and taunt her into showing herself. Some of those men became food. Privately, Hest believed that if the Chalcedean would stop feeding his henchmen to the dragon, she would sooner succumb to her injuries and die.

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    But he did not say so. He did not wish to end up on the end of an oar. Yet he feared that, at the rate Lord Dargen was spending men, it would be inevitable. The Chalcedean seldom gave him an order any more. Hest kept himself busy and out of the man¡¯s sight, making every effort to be both useful and invisible. For hours every day, he carried out menial tasks, wiping tables, stirring porridge or soup, and any other work he could find to occupy himself. He had, he thought bitterly, adapted himself into the ideal slave, endlessly labouring without need of direction.


    The only thing worse than the constant drudgery were the times of absolute terror when the dragon attacked the ship. Those could happen at any moment, he had discovered. Pestered and poked enough, she would turn and lash out. Her roars lacked spirit, more the response of a cornered rat than an enraged predator. Yet even so, every attack damaged one ship or another and often enough, claimed a life.


    ¡®Hest!¡¯


    He jerked at the sound of his shouted name, and the men gathered at the table roared with laughter. The Chalcedean did not. He was scowling, displeased with his servant. Hest tried not to cower. He had several reasons to fear. He had stolen two pieces of bacon that morning on the pretence of cleaning the pan. And he had purloined a water-stained cloak that one of the Chalcedeans had thrown to the deck after the dragon had given them an unexpected drenching. It served as his bedding now and he was pathetically grateful for its thin comfort. But now, as dread rose in him, he cursed himself for a fool. He had not been that cold nor were the deck planks that hard. That discomfort was not worth his life!


    The Chalcedean¡¯s cheeks and nose were red with drinking, or perhaps just from recent splashes of river water. They all looked the worse for wear by now and Hest dared not imagine how he appeared. His hands and arms were scalded red to the elbows just from his cleaning tasks. But his master only took a heavy brass key from the pouch at his belt and said, ¡®Go to the second aft hatch and bring us back that little keg of Sandsedge brandy.¡¯ He looked around the table at his men, swaying slightly. ¡®I don¡¯t think it¡¯s too early for us to celebrate. Tomorrow she will surely fall to us. That spear from Binton went deep today, did it not? Did you see how her blood bubbled as it met the water? Dragon blood! Soon enough we¡¯ll have plenty of it. So emptying the keg to hold it tonight might be a wise course of action!¡¯


    Two men cheered, but the others at the table shook their heads. Hest¡¯s heart sank as one of them snatched the key back from him and stuffed it back into his master¡¯s pouch. Anger blossomed on the Chalcedean¡¯s face and Hest knew he would bear the brunt of it. ¡®Your master is drunk. Only a fool celebrates a victory before it is in his hands. Take him back to his bed for the night. Tomorrow, perhaps, you will have to bring us that cask.¡¯


    Lord Dargen rose unsteadily. His hand hovered over one of his vicious little knives. ¡®You are not in command here, Clard. It is something for you to remember.¡¯


    The man did not lower his gaze. ¡®I know it well, Lord Dargen. You lead us, and you have borne the hardship of doing so. But I follow you, and not the wine in your belly!¡¯ He grinned as he added this, and after a moment, the fury melted from the Chalcedean¡¯s face. He nodded slowly and relieved smiles broke on the faces of the other men at the table.


    Lord Dargen turned to Hest. ¡®I am going to bed. Take a candle and precede me, Bingtown Trader. When we go back to Chalced, perhaps I will make you my valet. I have never had a valet, but you appear well suited to the task. As long as you keep your hands to yourself.¡¯


    The men at the table roared with laughter. Fury burned in his heart but Hest bent his mouth in an approximation of an appreciative smile. Dismay that such a fate could await him warred with hatred for the man. Would it be much worse to be eaten by the dragon or drowned in the river? As he sheltered their candle from the wind on the way back to the deckhouse and his stateroom, he wished he had the courage to push the drunk overboard, even as his wiser self reminded him of how his companions would react to the loss of their leader.


    Death was not far away. They knew it, the carrion eaters and blood drinkers, and they swarmed around her. Some did not wait, but darted forward to try for a chunk of her flesh or the opportunity to latch onto one of her wounds. She longed to shake them off, to dart her head down and make her predators her own meal, but she did not. Let them come. Tintaglia moved in silence, ignoring the swarms of small vampire worms and the fish that kept trying to take a bite of her. They might feed on her tonight; they would almost certainly feast on her tomorrow. But no human would draw her blood or slice her scales free; no human would lay her belly open and take her heart with bloody hands. No. If she could not escape them, she would at least ensure that they joined her in death.

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    She had taken some rest earlier in the day, if it could be called that. As evening fell, she had found a gap in the forest wall and crept back among the trees. She could not go far, but she had stiffly wound her aching body among the trunks and tree roots and, for a short time, closed her eyes.


    And dreamed.


    That had surprised her. Of late, when she found a place and a moment to sleep, exhaustion dragged her under into a dark cavern that could scarcely be called rest. More like a bite of death, she thought to herself. But that brief rest had brought her a gobbet of an idea. Some ancient ancestral memory had uncoiled in her mind and when she awoke, it awaited her. Ships had a vulnerable point. Every ship needed a rudder, be it a sweep or a steering oar. Destroy those, and neither vessel could manoeuvre well.


    She had been stupid to flee them, to let them attack and chase her. The only times she had gained any blood from them were when she had lain in wait. But they had learned to anticipate those ambushes. She had attacked them when they were awake and alert, their arms ready to hand, and the light helping them to see. Now as she paced slowly and silently through the water back toward the ships, she hissed in silent satisfaction. The lights of the anchored vessels beckoned her, spilling a pale betrayal of their silhouettes onto the river¡¯s face. But she would be almost invisible to them, a black shape in the black water.


    She did not deceive herself. This was her last bid at survival. If she did not destroy or at least disable her foes tonight, she did not think she could live through another day of their harrying. The infection from her original wound seemed to have spread to all the minor injuries they had dealt her since then. She was not healing; daily her injuries worsened and she weakened. If she could only rest, make a kill, eat and rest, then perhaps she could muster the strength to plod on toward Kelsingra. Flight was beyond her now. She could scarcely move one wing, and the thought of springing into the air, snapping it open and beating her way up into the sky seemed no more than a long-ago dream.


    They had moored their boats with their noses upstream. She would have to pass them as silently as possible, then turn and attack. She hoped to disable both ships and then flee before they could retaliate. It was not a dragon¡¯s way of fighting, to strike and then run, but she was not living in ordinary times for dragons. She carried within her eggs that would mature and eventually be ready for laying. She had caught the scent of dragons on the one damaged vessel; there was a faint chance that there was a colony of viable dragons at Kelsingra. But it was hard to believe and until she knew, she felt that the fate of her race rested on her. If these stupid men so bent on killing her succeeded, they might well have eradicated dragons for ever.


    The thought steeled her resolve. She would disable their ships and escape. And when she was healed, she would return to destroy not just them but the evil nest that had bred them. She had heard their speech and recognized words from her ancient memories. I know where you spawn, she thought at them. I and my offspring will fall upon your land and leave not one of your nests standing. We will feast on your kine and your children, and foul your drinking places with carrion. You will be the ones eradicated, and no memory of your ways will descend from you.


    She was so close now that she could hear their muffled voices and stupid laughter. Laugh well, for a final time, she thought at them. Her path would take her between the two moored vessels, in water deep enough to conceal her and shallow enough that her claws would not lose their grip on the river bottom. She bent her legs slightly, crouching so that only her eyes and nostrils remained above the water, and began her stealthy approach.


    Lord Dargen breathed out the fumes of Hest¡¯s own wine as he staggered along beside him. He gripped Hest¡¯s shoulder and leaned on him, cursing him when his stumbling feet jostled him against the railing. ¡®Stop. Stop!¡¯ he commanded Hest suddenly. ¡®Need to piss. Stay and watch, Bingtown Trader, and see the weapon a Chalcedean bears.¡¯ He was, Hest thought, very drunk indeed.


    He kept his grip on Hest¡¯s shoulder as he staggered to the railing and Hest had perforce to move with him. He moved aside in distaste as the man made lewd comments about Hest¡¯s supposed desire for him and Hest¡¯s lack of endowment. The night was not peaceful. Animals called to one another in the nearby forest and ghostly gleams of luminescent hanging moss made mad ghosts in the trees. The yellow lamplight from the windows of the ship fled the vessel in long bars of light on the river¡¯s face. A ripple in the water¡¯s surface caught Hest¡¯s eye. He stared, wondering what disturbed the slack current between the two vessels. A large gleaming eye glared up at him and then was lidded abruptly.

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    ¡®The dragon!¡¯ Hest shouted. ¡®She is right alongside us! The dragon is in the river!¡¯


    ¡®Idiot!¡¯ The Chalcedean cursed him. ¡®What is frightening you? A river pig? A floating log?¡¯ Lord Dargen staggered to Hest¡¯s side and looked down. ¡®There is nothing there! Just water and a coward¡¯s imagining.¡¯ He seized Hest¡¯s wrist and with shocking strength dragged him closer. ¡®Look down, Bingtown coward! What do you see? Nothing but black water! I should throw you in so you can see for yourself!¡¯ With his free hand, he seized the back of Hest¡¯s neck and shoved him forward so that he leaned far out over the railing. Hest shouted wordlessly and struggled, but even drunk, the Chalcedean had a madman¡¯s strength. Worse, as Hest stared, a gleaming blue eye looked up at him from the depths. The rest of the creature was invisible, cloaked in the black water, but he knew it was the dragon that looked up at him with hatred. And waited.


    ¡®It¡¯s there! Look for yourself, there! See the eye, look!¡¯ His voice rose and cracked into a woman¡¯s squeal.


    The Chalcedean laughed, drunk and guttural. ¡®Over you go, Bingtowner!¡¯


    The boat gave a sudden wild heave sideways. The shrieking of splintered wood competed with the harsh cries of the men in the galley and the terrified screams of the hostages trapped below decks. Hest clutched at the railing and a wordless scream escaped him. The Chalcedean staggered free of him shouting, ¡®Arms! The dragon attacks us. Kill her, kill her now!¡¯


    As the boat tipped again, the Chalcedean lord was flung against the railing. For a long moment he clung there, and Hest dared to hope to see him tip over the edge. But the next onslaught from the dragon flung the ship in the other direction, and he slammed against the ship¡¯s house. ¡®Attack!¡¯ he roared, fury and fear diminishing his drunkenness.


    The door of the galley was flung open and men poured out onto the deck, weapons in their hands.


    ¡®I wish the city would light itself here,¡¯ Rapskal complained.


    Privately, Thymara agreed with his sentiment even as she recognized the impossibility. Even this magical city had limits. Only certain bands of metal woke to light, and not all of them still worked. How they worked at all was still a great mystery, but she now recognized Elderling magical works when she saw them. And in this part of the city, they seemed to have chosen to use it as little as possible. Almost, she remembered why. She turned away from the memory tug. The statues in the nearby squares were only statues, silent and unmoving. They were of lovingly worked stone, but no shining silver threads of memory gleamed in them.


    The keepers had gathered at the well plaza to bend their backs to clearing the debris. Alise was there and, for the first time in weeks, she carried her case of paper and pencils. She seemed to take immense satisfaction in the new supplies that Leftrin had brought her. She clambered through the stack of broken timbers and sketched a copy of the lettering on one. The timbers had been amazingly well preserved, and Thymara had heard her speculate to Leftrin that the thick glossy paint that coated them had something to do with it. Leftrin had grudgingly agreed even as he muttered his disappointment that his work crew was here instead of applying their efforts to reinforcing Tarman¡¯s dock.


    Thymara stretched her aching back and tried to see the plaza as Alise did. It was not easy to mentally piece it together. A graceful and lavishly decorated roof of carved wood supported on stout wooden pillars had sheltered the walled well at one time. The roof had been pyramidal, and painted green and gold and blue. It had given way to time and possibly violence. Carson had pointed out that some of the timbers were torn while others had rotted. Mixed in with the timbers were chains and pulleys, the remnants of a windlass that had once cranked up a large bucket from the depths. Carson had directed the keepers to pull the metal parts to the side and to preserve every piece they found. ¡®We may be able to reassemble at least part of it,¡¯ he said.


    Leftrin had looked at the heaped sections of broken chain and whistled low. ¡®Can the well have been that deep?¡¯


    And to that question Mercor had replied, ¡®The level of Silver receded over time. It was, indeed, that deep.¡¯


    The dragons had all gathered to watch them in a hopeful shifting circle. They came and went as hunger drove them away to hunt, gorge and sleep, but they always returned to the plaza as evening was shifting into night rather than seeking the baths or the sand wallows. Thymara privately reflected that this was the most time any of the dragons had spent with their Elderlings in weeks.


    The palpable anticipation of the dragons had infected all of the keepers. Every one of them, as well as Leftrin¡¯s entire crew, had put aside all other work to labour at clearing the site. Leftrin had insisted that a skeleton crew must remain aboard his beloved liveship, but the crewmen had alternated duties so that each one had spent some time at the well plaza. Big Eider¡¯s incredible strength had been indispensible to moving the larger pieces of timber, while Hennesey and Skelly had sorted usable lengths of chain from short sections. Thymara had marked well how Hennesey grinned as he worked, jesting and good-natured as she had never seen him before. Perhaps it had something to do with how Tillamon, well attired in Elderling dress now, was always the one to bring him water and to stand beside him asking earnest questions as he affably explained all to her. Tillamon was not pretty; her scaling and the wattles along her jaw reminded Thymara more of an armoured toad from the Rain Forest rather than a graceful Elderling. But then, Hennesey with his scars and work-roughened hands was not a gem of masculine beauty. And neither of them seemed to care much what anyone else thought of them so long as they were pleased with one another. Tall, slender Alum looked more out of place as he struggled to find tasks in Skelly¡¯s vicinity while enduring the solemn scrutiny of every other crew member. Bellin in particular watched him with measuring eyes and a flat mouth.

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    And so the long work day had gone, with Alise scribbling and the others sorting and moving broken things. Before long, a round hole, bigger across than a tall man¡¯s height, gaped up at them from the centre of the simple plaza. The remains of a brick wall encircled it. The well was wedged full of more wreckage. ¡®Going to have to rig a hoist to clear that,¡¯ Swarge observed dourly. ¡®Almost looks like it was stuffed down there apurpose,¡¯ he opined, and Carson had agreed with several colourful profanities added.


    It had not just fallen; debris had been deliberately packed into the well until it lodged there. Even after a tripod of salvaged timbers had been erected over the well mouth, the task of removing it included breaking it free before it could be hauled up out of the mouth. As the level of debris receded, Leftrin insisted that any keeper climbing into the hole must wear a harness and have a tender. ¡®No telling when that wreckage could all give way and fall in, Sa knows how deep. Don¡¯t want a keeper or crew-hand going down with it.¡¯


    And so the hard work of clearing the packed wreckage had begun. From dawn until dark the keepers toiled, and all the while the dragons had watched, pacing eagerly and sometimes crowding so close that keepers were forced to plead, with much flattery, for them to move back and give them all room to work. Even as night stole the colours from the sky, the dragons clustered there. Some merely stood; others prowled as if they expected game to erupt from the well shaft. Spit nosed through the heaped piles of chain, undoing most of a day¡¯s work. Carson heaved a great sigh. ¡®Dragon. Leave off that, unless you want it to take us even longer to solve this puzzle.¡¯


    Spit stopped his rummaging and lifted his head. His eyes gleamed. ¡®Silver is everything. In traces we gain it when we drink from the river or eat prey that has done so. It is threaded through the stones and bones of this place, and moves deep beneath the earth here.¡¯ His words were measured and spoken calmly. ¡®All creatures that live here gain some Silver from what they eat and drink, and once dragons had to be content with that. We knew that the prey of this land and the waters of this land were more rejuvenating to us than anywhere else we hunted. We heard each other more clearly when we hunted here, and we could hear humans as well ¡­¡¯ His words trailed off and it felt to Thymara as if the night darkened around them.


    ¡®Spit?¡¯ Carson asked as the extraordinary flow of thought dwindled and ceased. He was not the only one staring at the mean little silver. Spit was standing stock still, staring sightlessly at the crumpled walls of the old well. The silence stretched.


    Mercor broke it. ¡®I feel that Spit spoke true. I cannot remember all the events he spoke of, but what I can remember fits with what he said.¡¯


    ¡®Give me that!¡¯ Carson commanded suddenly. He advanced on the small dragon and peered at him sternly. After a long pause, Spit¡¯s jaws opened slightly. A length of chain dangled from his mouth, and then spooled out to clank to the stones of the plaza. Carson crouched down to examine it but did not touch it. ¡®What just happened?¡¯ he demanded of no one and everyone.


    Mercor blew air from his nostrils. ¡®There must have been a trace of Silver left on the chain, and Spit found it.¡¯


    ¡®Only a tiny bit,¡¯ Spit admitted blissfully. ¡®I smelled it. And I took it while the rest of you were standing and staring like cattle.¡¯ His satisfaction was poisonous.


    ¡®Now there¡¯s the Spit we know,¡¯ Carson muttered, and then he and the other keepers dodged away as the other dragons surged forward to investigate the well wreckage. But their snorting and shuffling of the chains and broken timbers evidently yielded nothing to them. They dispersed slowly, going back to their watch, and Thymara knew that every keeper shared her wonder. If a tiny amount of Silver could work so great a change in Spit, even temporarily, what would a flowing supply of it do for the dragons? And what would they be willing to do for it?


    Sintara had visited the work site no less than three times. She had spoken little to Thymara but radiated approval at how hard the girl was working to clear the well. Thymara resented how the dragon¡¯s enthusiasm could warm and energize her, but could not resist it. She knew she worked harder when the blue queen was watching over her. She was not the only one. Even Jerd had come to lend a hand with an enthusiasm she seldom showed for hard labour on a chilly day. Thymara had avoided her, preferring to work alongside Tats and Rapskal. It warmed her in a different way to see how easy they were with one another now. Tats had evidently been sincere about setting his jealousy aside, and Rapskal had never shown signs of feeling any. Could it be that easy, she wondered, and found that she hoped so. She had been able to relax and be more herself. When they paused in late afternoon to eat a simple meal that blessedly included hot tea with sugar and hardtack as well as their perpetual smoked meat, Jerd had strolled by behind them and made a smiling remark that the three of them seemed to have found something to enjoy together.

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    Thymara had let it go by and told herself that she was proud of having done so.


    But with night coming on and the cold rising from the earth to chill her hands and face, she wanted only to go home. Yes, home, she affirmed to herself. Her cosy room with her small hoard of personal items was home now. Clearing the well would have to wait for tomorrow and daylight, she thought to herself, but the others did not seem to share her desire for rest. Carson and Big Eider and Leftrin had moved to the well¡¯s edge and were staring down into it.


    ¡®Too dark to work any more tonight,¡¯ Leftrin declared.


    ¡®I¡¯m too cold to do more right now,¡¯ Tats called up from the depths.


    Kase and Boxter were on the line for the hoist. As they pulled him up to the lip, Nortel and Rapskal were standing by to grasp his harness and swing him to sure footing. Even through his Elderling scaling, his face was red with cold and his hands looked like claws: Rapskal had to untie the knots of his harness.


    As Tats stepped clear, he added, ¡®I think we¡¯re nearly there. That last chunk of timber you hauled up, the one with the piece of chain attached to it? After you hauled it out of the way, I felt around and there was a partial hole. There¡¯s still some clearing to do, but I think there¡¯s only two more chunks blocking it. After we jerk them out, we¡¯ll have a clear way to the bottom of the shaft.¡¯


    ¡®Was there Silver at the bottom?¡¯ Veras asked eagerly. Her nostrils were flared and the spikes around her neck stood out like a ruffle. Jerd stood by her queen dragon, her face echoing the question.


    ¡®Can you reach it?¡¯ Sintara demanded. She pushed to the front of the circle and, ignoring Leftrin¡¯s shout to be careful of his hoist, stalked over to peer down the hole. ¡®I can¡¯t see it,¡¯ she said after a few moments. ¡®But I think I smell it!¡¯


    ¡®The wreckage smells of Silver. That¡¯s all.¡¯ Spit was pessimistic, as always. ¡®All the Silver wells have gone dry, and we are doomed. I¡¯m glad I took what I found on that chain.¡¯


    Heeby gave a mournful call, and Rapskal dropped the harness he had been holding to run to her side. ¡®No, my beauty, my darling. We are not giving up. Far from it!¡¯ He spun back to face the men standing by the shaft. ¡®Can we not lower a light of some kind? To give the dragons an answer tonight?¡¯


    Despite the deepening night and the cold, the attempt had been made. It had taken several tries. The first torch they dropped landed on the blockage and rested there, burning and blocking their view of anything below it. But by its light, they dropped two more torches, and one fell through the gap.


    Thymara had lain on her belly, part of a circle of keepers peering down the hole, as the first burning torch fell. It briefly lit the gleaming walls. The shaft was perfectly circular and smooth: she saw no sign of individual bricks facing it. The flames made a shimmering reflection as they fell. And fell. Thymara was impressed with how deep her fellow keepers had descended to clear the blockage. She glanced over at Tats. ¡®I couldn¡¯t go down into the darkness like you did. I just couldn¡¯t.¡¯


    Rapskal was on the other side of her. ¡®Surely you could,¡¯ he asserted quietly. His words irritated her, but she could not think why. Usually, when he said she was stronger or braver than she thought she was, she felt flattered. But not tonight, looking down into blackness.


    ¡®I could, perhaps, but I wouldn¡¯t,¡¯ she countered, and he was silent.


    When the third torch fell through the gap Tats had seen, it seemed to fall forever. But it did not go out.


    It was keen-eyed Hennesey who said, ¡®There¡¯s something silvery down there. But not much, I don¡¯t think. I see what might be a bucket turned on its side. But it¡¯s not floating and neither is the torch. Looks like it¡¯s resting on the bottom. The bucket is what I can mostly see. It¡¯s huge.¡¯


    ¡®Why so large a bucket?¡¯ Thymara wondered aloud.


    ¡®Big enough for a dragon to drink from,¡¯ Rapskal asserted quietly.


    In the uneven, flickering light they studied what they saw at the bottom of the shaft. Carson summed it up: ¡®Looks like the well filled up with sediment and went dry, and then someone broke the mechanism and dumped it down there, blocking the shaft. If there¡¯s any Silver down there still, it¡¯s not standing visible. I¡¯m not sure this is worth our time.¡¯ He gave a weary sigh and stretched. ¡®My friends, I think we should give this up.¡¯


    ¡®Clear the rubble away.¡¯


    ¡®It can be dug deeper again. Elderlings can go down that hole.¡¯


    ¡®Can any of the Silver be brought to the surface?¡¯

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    The dragons trumpeted their anxious queries. Thymara felt their longing for the precious stuff. It was like a thirst for water, only deeper.


    ¡®NO!¡¯ Spit¡¯s furious roar drowned out all others. ¡®Must have the Silver! We must! Kill you if you stop trying!¡¯


    Mercor slowly moved until he stood between Spit and the keepers. He favoured him with a long, black stare. The small silver dragon lowered his head until his muzzle pointed at the ground. He hissed low but he also stepped back.


    ¡®Dragons don¡¯t just want the Silver. They need it,¡¯ Thymara said quietly. The knowledge had simply risen in her, some common bit of Elderling lore. But her words were spoken into the shocked lull that followed Spit¡¯s outburst, and all seemed to hear them. The keepers waited, bewildered by the intensity of the dragons¡¯ response until at last Mercor spoke, his words measured and slow. As he often did, he ignored Spit¡¯s outburst.


    ¡®Once, there were places in the river where the Silver ran just beneath the water. And dragons could get what they needed for themselves. There were seasons when it ran shallow, and sometimes, after an earthquake, one place would lose its Silver, but we would scent it out in another. It was precious stuff, and the best seeps were protected jealously by the strongest drakes.¡¯


    He was silent for a time, as if he sought the most ancient of memories. Kalo made a deep chuffing sound, a territorial warning. Thymara had never heard any dragon make such a sound before but instantly recognized what it was. Baliper, who so seldom spoke, added, ¡®Many a bloody battle was fought for a Silver seep. Dragons were less touched by humans then. We were different creatures.¡¯


    ¡®A savage time,¡¯ Mercor agreed, but he sounded almost wistful for such conflict. ¡®We made few Elderlings then ¡­ only singers, I think. But some settled here, brought by their dragons. They made a little village. They did not go near the seeps or know of Silver. It was not for them. But then, after a quake much stronger than any we recalled, Silver rose in one of the human-dug wells. The first humans who discovered it died from touching it. But the dragons that ate their bodies became powerful of mind. It was a pure, true flow of Silver, much better than any we had ever tasted. All learned to drink long and deep of the pure Silver pulled up from that well. We began to speak with humans and to use the power of the Silver to shape them into forms more suitable to attend us. They became true Elderlings. From dragons, they gained the power of the Silver, and they built this place, a city for dragons and Elderlings to share. When another quake closed that well, our Elderlings found other sources for us. Some lasted a long time, while others failed quickly. I do not have a memory of how or when this Silver well was dug. But I do have ancestral recollection that once this well near brimmed with Silver.


    ¡®Here a dragon could come and drink his fill. And that was well, for the Silver seeps grew less predictable and harder to find. At great risk to themselves, our Elderlings dug this well bigger and deeper, and built a kiosk to shelter the well. As the Silver receded, it became more and more difficult to bring it to the surface, but they found ways to manage it. Wells were made deeper, this one in particular. The Silver from this well seemed to ebb and flow with the seasons, sometimes shallow, sometimes flowing. Other, lesser Silver wells in this area eventually went dry. But this one remained, always, and so it became our treasure.¡¯


    Mercor paused. Thymara heard only the breathing of dragons and Elderlings and the distant whispering of the river. He spoke again. ¡®We were not the only dragons then. There were others, but without the pure Silver, they were not clear-minded as we were. Sometimes, they were little better than the lions and bears they hunted in their own lands. When we encountered them, in mating flights or migrations to the warm lands, they could smell the Silver on us. They wanted it. And sometimes they followed us back here, to the source, but we stood them off. They came, sometimes in droves, but always we prevailed against them and sent them back to their own regions.


    ¡®As Kelsingra prospered, we made many Elderlings, to tend the wells for us, and to make places of warmth and comfort for us in the winter season. And to help us guard this, the best source of Silver in the world. And so our city grew around it. The Elderlings quarried stone that had threads of silver running through it, and found many uses for it for themselves. We used Silver to change our Elderlings, and in turn, they used what they learned from us to change this part of the world. The Silver remains here, in threads in the stones, and it speaks to us of those days. But dragons cannot drink stone. And if this well has failed, and we have found no more seeps ¡­¡¯

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    ¡®Why do dragons need Silver?¡¯ Sylve spoke her quiet question.


    Her dragon swung his large head to look at her. Black on black, his eyes spun in the torchlight. Thymara felt that he spoke with reluctance. ¡®It extends our lives, just as we extend the lives of our Elderlings. It is a part of us, in our blood and in our venom and in the cases we weave as serpents for our transformation. That was why Cassarick was so important. The clay banks there have Silver in the sand. It cannot be drunk, but in our thread-spinning, it holds memories for us, in much the same way as the stones held memories for the Elderlings. It helps us to recall our ancestral memories as we pass from serpent to dragon. If the Silver is gone from the world, much of what dragons are will be gone also. We will continue, but I think our wealth of memories may be greatly shortened. Our minds will dim. And our lifespans dwindle.¡¯ He lowered his voice and added, ¡®As will our ability to shape Elderlings.¡¯


    The great golden dragon turned to look down on Malta and Reyn. As always, Malta carried her bundled baby against her chest as if she were a child and he her dearest doll. Even in the cold of night, she would not part from him. Did she think he could not die if she held him close? Mercor spoke words that drove all colour from her face. ¡®If Tintaglia ever returns, she will need Silver to change your child to a creature that can survive. All our lives depend on Silver, in one way or another.¡¯


    ¡®No. Noooo!¡¯ Malta drew out the word in a low cry and then turned to her husband, folding herself into his arms and sheltering the child between them.


    Anxiety rippled Sylve¡¯s brow and she reached out a sympathetic hand to touch her dragon¡¯s face. ¡®Mercor, if there is any Silver to be had in any way, I will get it for you.¡¯


    ¡®I know,¡¯ the dragon responded calmly. ¡®That is what Elderlings do. But I will warn you that it is at peril of your life that you touch Silver. Dragons may drink of it, but any touch of it on human skin is a precursor to a slow death. Only some of the Elderlings mastered it. At a cost.¡¯ He fell silent for a time, musing, and no one ventured to speak.


    Malta lifted her bowed head. Tears tinged pink with blood showed on her face. ¡®But you said I had been touched with Silver. If that is so, how is it that I am not dead?¡¯


    The dragon shook his great golden head slowly. ¡®Elderlings found a way, but I do not recall the details of it. They could touch it and wear it on their hands to work their magic. It gave intent to stone, and spoke to wood and pottery and metal, bidding it be a certain shape or react in a given way. And those things did as the Elderlings bade them. They made doorways from it, entries of stone that they used to travel to their other cities. They created buildings that stayed warm in the winter. They made roads that always remembered they were roads and did not allow plants to break them. The most powerful of them sometimes used Silver to transform themselves at death, going into the statues they made to preserve a strange sort of life for themselves.


    ¡®Sometimes they used Silver to heal, to recall for the body how it should be and help it to make itself right. Their own skill with the uses of Silver contributed to their long lifespans. If an Elderling still existed with such a great level of skill with the Silver, he might even be able to heal your child. Magical creatures, those ancient beings were. But perhaps their time is past, not to come again. And perhaps so it is with dragons.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t say that!¡¯ Sylve cried and flung herself against his flank. She was not the only keeper to stand with brimming eyes. Had they come so far to fail?


    Reyn gathered Malta and his child close to him and spoke a promise to her. ¡®If there is Silver to be had, I will get it for Phron.¡¯


    Tintaglia was weaker than she had thought. The blows she had dealt to their tiller had splintered it but not shorn it from the ship as she had intended. She snaked her head in and seized the wood in her teeth, clamping her jaws on it and tearing at it, intending to pull it free of the vessel. Instead, the ship gave way to her pulling, throwing her off balance. She reflexively opened her wings to brace herself, and the unthinkable happened.


    It was a lucky cast of the spear. Even the man who threw it gave a wild shout of surprise when it struck and went in. Tintaglia screamed. In the darkness, the cast had unerringly found her weakest spot, striking the swollen site where the buried arrowhead still festered. She felt a hot stab of unbearable pain, and then the soft infected tissue gave way and the arrowhead tore free. Blood and fluid poured from her into the cold river water. Pain surrounded a terrible relief of pressure as the wound drained. The world spun around her, starlight glinting on the river¡¯s face. She struggled to get away from the ship.

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    The first blow from the pole hit the side of her head. Suddenly there were men at the railings of both ships, raining blows down on her with oars and poles. Arrows shot at close range thudded painfully against her even if they did not pierce her scaling. In her confusion, she had trapped herself between the two vessels instead of evading them. Someone flung an empty cask; it struck the back of her head and for an instant, she was stunned, her head sinking beneath the water.


    She lifted her head to the wild cheers of both crews. They were killing her and she knew it. Fury washed through her that puny humans should be able to treat a dragon so. Heedless of how she exposed her underbelly, she reared onto her hind legs and battered at the ships with her front legs. At the same time, she threw back her head in a wild trumpeting of anger and despair.


    They kill me! The men of Chalced have stabbed and bludgeoned me. I die! Dragonkind, if any of you yet live, avenge me! IceFyre, if you can hear me, know that our young die unhatched! Avenge them!


    Carson spoke gruffly. He sounded almost apologetic, as if he had told Malta the child must die. ¡®I said the well was sanded in. Not dry. There are ways to dredge out a well and open it again. Drinking-water wells in the Rain Wilds mud in often enough. I just wonder why this well isn¡¯t full of water, as close as we are to the river. Tomorrow, when there is more light to work by, we will hook onto that pot and all lend our backs to drawing it up. And then we will be able to see more clearly how deep the Silver is. But for now, it¡¯s getting colder and I suspect we will have rain again before morning. Let¡¯s get back to shelter for the night, now. All will look better on the morrow.¡¯


    The keepers were nodding and some of them were taking up torches from their makeshift holders. Hennesey offered his arm to Tillamon and she accepted it readily. Skelly was saying a private farewell to Alum behind the stack of timber. The dragons were turning to begin their slow promenade through the streets toward the sand beds or the hot-water baths as keepers and crewmen gathered tools from the work site. Spit followed last, head down, hissing a dribble of venom that sizzled as it hit the paved streets.


    ¡®They need Silver to live?¡¯ Tats said quietly beside Thymara.


    ¡®To live long. And to pass on their memories to their offspring, I think,¡¯ Thymara replied. Reluctantly, she added, ¡®As we will need it. I suspect the old Elderlings extended their own lives by repairing their bodies as they aged.¡¯


    They had both heard Mercor¡¯s words. It simply made it more believable to discuss it with one another. Neither mentioned what had been said about Malta¡¯s baby, nor what it might mean to future children born in Kelsingra. In her heart, Thymara believed the child was doomed. He needed a dragon that had not been seen in years, and a magical element that had not flowed in decades. She felt sorry for the family but held her heart back from feeling too much. Privately, she was grateful she had not risked a pregnancy. She had no desire to feel what Malta was feeling.


    Rapskal was suddenly beside them. ¡®Tomorrow, I think that some of us should find the smaller wells that Mercor spoke of, and see if they are still dry. It seems to me that if a well goes dry because of an earthquake, perhaps another one might open it again.¡¯


    ¡®Good plan,¡¯ Tats said, and in his voice she heard his worry for his green dragon. She tried to decide how she felt about this possible threat, and felt an echo from Sintara as she said, ¡®I will wait to see how we fare with this well before I become too fearful. It may be that the well is shallow but refills fast. Some Silver at least we can draw from it, once the final blockage is cleared.¡¯


    ¡®There is that!¡¯ Rapskal exclaimed hopefully. ¡®And my Heeby will need ¡­¡¯ His words trailed away. His eyes widened as he drew a deep breath and then held it.


    ¡®Rapskal?¡¯ Thymara ventured.


    He turned his head sharply, and his eyes suddenly focused on her. ¡®Treachery most foul! Dragons are set on by men! We must fly to her aid, now, tonight!¡¯


    His words were nearly drowned in the wild trumpeting as the dragons took up his call. A moment later, the meaning of it all permeated her brain. Somewhere, a dragon was dying, killed by humans. A queen dragon. Tintaglia! Tintaglia, she who had guided them all up the river as serpents, Tintaglia was falling to human treachery! She summoned them to avenge her!


    ¡®Tintaglia, Tintaglia!¡¯ Malta¡¯s anguished shriek was a higher note among the dragons¡¯ trumpeting. ¡®If you and your offspring die, so do mine! Blue queen, wonder of the skies, do not die! Do not allow yourself to be taken!¡¯ She turned suddenly and spoke to the other keepers. She stood tall in the night and the force of her plea was something they all felt. ¡®Elderlings, rise! Go to her aid, I beg you! For the sake of my child, yes, but for the sake of all our dragons! For if you let this happen to sapphire Tintaglia, what safety is there for any of you?¡¯

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    Malta gleamed in the yellow light of the torches and lanterns, and with a strange thrill, Thymara recognized the Queen of the Elderlings. No wonder all of Jamaillia had seen her so, commanding with words as compelling as the glamour of the dragon. Thymara was suddenly certain that if Tintaglia could feel Malta¡¯s words, she would take heart from them.


    ¡®We fly!¡¯ Rapskal roared in response. His voice had gone husky and wild. His eyes glared with fury and the set of his mouth made him a stranger to Thymara. He paced among the churning Elderlings and dragons, seeming suddenly taller. ¡®My armour! My spear!¡¯ he cried aloud. ¡®Where are my servants? Send them for my armour. We must fly tonight. We cannot wait for light, for by then she may have gone into eternal darkness. Rise up and seize your arms. Ready the dragon baskets! Bring forth the battle harness!¡¯


    Thymara stared at him, open-mouthed. She felt caught alone in a vortex of whirling times. Tellator. Tellator spoke in that tone of command, Tellator strode like that. All around her, dragons were rearing and trumpeting furiously. Keepers darted among them, some imploring their dragons to stay safely here, to not try to fly in darkness, while some of the keepers had moved clear of a horde of dragons shaking out their wings and snapping their necks to fill their poison glands. Rapskal¡¯s peculiar behaviour seemed to have gone unnoticed.


    He strode toward her, a clenched-teeth smile on his face. She froze as he took her in his arms and held her to his heart. ¡®Have no fear, my darling. A hundred times have I gone into battle, and always I have returned to you, have I not? This time will be no exception! Have faith in me, Amarinda. I will safely return to you, both honour and life intact. We will turn back any that dare to enter our territory uninvited!¡¯


    ¡®Rapskal!¡¯ She shouted his name and broke free of his embrace. Seizing him by the shoulders, she shook him as hard as she could. ¡®You are Rapskal and I am Thymara. And you are not a warrior!¡¯


    He stared at her oddly as he drew himself up taller. ¡®Maybe not, Thymara, but someone must fight, and I am the only one who has a dragon willing to carry me. I have to go. Those cruel murderers have attacked a queen dragon, seeking to butcher her like a cow! It cannot be tolerated.¡¯


    The voice was Rapskal¡¯s and the very earnest stare was his too, but the cadence of his voice and the words he used were Tellator¡¯s. She tried again. ¡®Rapskal, you are not him. And I am not Amarinda. I am Thymara.¡¯


    His eyes seemed to focus on her again. ¡®Of course you are, Thymara. And I know who I am. But I also bear Tellator¡¯s memories. The price of his memories is a small one, and that is to honour the life of the man who gave them to me. To continue his duties and work.¡¯ He leaned closer to her and peered into her eyes as if looking for something. ¡®As you should honour Amarinda¡¯s memories by continuing her tasks. Someone must, Thymara, and that someone is you.¡¯


    She looked at him and shook her head. She became dimly aware of Tats standing beside them, watching them both intently. She could take no time for him now, regardless of what he thought. She held tight to Rapskal and spoke earnestly. ¡®Rapskal, I don¡¯t want you to be Tellator. I don¡¯t want to be Amarinda. I want us to be us, and whatever we do, I want it to be our own decision, not some continuation of someone else¡¯s life.¡¯


    He gave a small sigh and shifted his gaze to Tats. ¡®Watch over her, my friend. And if I do not return, think well of me.¡¯ His eyes met Thymara¡¯s again. ¡®Some day, you will understand. And sooner, I think, would be better than later. For the sake of my honour and my word. Heeby! Heeby, to me!¡¯


    He turned away from her. Some other woman from another time exclaimed, ¡®Your sword! Your armour!¡¯ She very nearly ran after him.


    But Tats was at her side, holding firmly to her arm. He spoke by her ear in the milling chaos of dragons and keepers. ¡®He has neither, and never has had them. Thymara. Come back to me. You cannot stop him. You know that.¡¯


    ¡®I know.¡¯ She wondered if Tats spoke of Rapskal charging off to fight a battle weaponless, or of his assumption of another man¡¯s life and duties. She looked at the man beside her. Tears welled painfully in her eyes. ¡®We¡¯re losing him. We¡¯re losing our friend.¡¯


    ¡®I fear you may be right.¡¯ He pulled her into his arms, held her head against his chest to shield her as all around them, dragons trumpeted and then leapt from the ground to take flight. The wind of their beating wings battered them and their war cries buffeted her ears. In moments, they were high above them.


    Thymara lifted her eyes to watch them go, but the overcast sky had swallowed them all, and only rain fell on her uplifted face.

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    Day the 6th of the Plough Moon


    Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders


    From Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick


    To Trader Finbok of the Bingtown Traders, Bingtown


    Dear Trader Finbok,


    I am in possession of a message from you which, I must admit, confuses me greatly. Either you have sent this message to me in error and are unaware of the great damage such a missive could do to my reputation, or you are a villain and a scoundrel who deliberately seeks to disgrace me. Perhaps you are deceived by some evil person who has slandered my name by pretending to be me. I choose to hope that you are not truly the malicious sort of person who would risk both our reputations.


    The letter I received not only claims that I have been sending you information stolen from other Traders¡¯ messages but also shows that you have been paying me a great deal of money for such information. And it declares that unless I surrender certain information about your son, of whom I assure you I have never heard, you will betray me to the Guild Masters in Bingtown!


    I am astonished and shocked to receive such a letter. It has occurred to me that perhaps it is actually from an enemy of yours who seeks to cause you financial and social disaster! For surely, if I took this to the Guild Masters, protesting my innocence, they would present it to the Bingtown Traders¡¯ Council, and leave it to them to determine if you have been a party to the theft of secrets of other Traders and profited by such knowledge.


    Please immediately reply to this missive so that we may clear up this whole matter.


    CHAPTER THIRTEEN


    Final Chances


    ¡®Dead things float.¡¯


    The Chalcedean spoke the words firmly, as if ordering someone or something to comply with them. The weary men gathered on the deck shuffled their feet, but no one replied. It was all too obvious to them that perhaps dead dragons did not float. In last night¡¯s uproarious battle, they had slain the blue monster and seen her sink beneath the water. Many of the men had cried out in dismay as the lifeless hulk had sunk. The others had counselled them to wait, she would rise.


    The sun had passed its zenith. No carcass had bobbed to the surface yet. No one had slept. All hands had kept watch on the water, fearing at first that the dragon was not dead and might venture another attack. Then, as the night wore on and she did not rise, they watched, fearing that their long-sought prize, the foundation of all their dreams, was on the bottom of the river, for ever out of their reach.


    They had probed the area between the moored ships with their longest poles and felt only water or river bottom. One hapless oar-slave, secured by a rope about his ankle, had been thrown overboard and commanded to dive as deep as he could and see what he might see. He had not wished to go; he had cried out in protest as his fellows had obediently lifted him and then flung him over the side. No swimmer he; he had sunk, and risen to the surface to splash and beg for help. The shouted commands for him to dive and look for the dragon carcass had not, in Hest¡¯s opinion, moved him.


    Rather, his own ineptitude had sunk him again. The second time, they had dragged him from the water by the line about his ankle. He had lain on the deck like a dead thing, his skin kissed red by the river, puffing air into his lungs, his eyes filmed with grey from the acid water. They shouted at him, demanding to know what he had seen. ¡®Nothing! I saw nothing, I see nothing!¡¯ The man¡¯s terror at being blind had robbed him of his fear of his master.


    The Chalcedean had kicked him disdainfully, proclaimed him useless and would have discarded him over the side if one of the others had not insisted that a blind man on an oar was better than an empty bench. Hest had noted that none of the Chalcedeans had volunteered to dive overboard.


    Now as the rising sun granted them enough light that they could see under the trees, they scanned the nearby banks to see if the dragon¡¯s carcass had washed ashore. There was nothing. Then the Chalcedean had announced that perhaps the current had carried their prize downstream. His haggard men stared at him with sick doubt in their eyes. The dragon was gone and they knew it.


    Their leader did not share their gloom. ¡®Oh, come!¡¯ Lord Dargen cajoled them. ¡®Will you rest now and let our fortune slip away from us? The current has carried our prize downstream. We will seek her there, and know that every stroke of the oar carries us closer to home as well as closer to a golden future!¡¯


    It sounded like chicanery to Hest, a mother¡¯s lie to make a child open his mouth for the bitter medicine. But the crews accepted it and began to make ready for a day¡¯s travel. What choice did they have? Odd, how living as a slave was showing him how little choice most men had in their lives. His existence had always been shaped by his father¡¯s authority. Last night, when his stolen rags and chill hold had begun to seem like a cosy refuge from standing on the deck holding a lantern aloft for the searchers, he had reconsidered Sedric¡¯s fantasy of the two of them running off to a distant country. Sedric had voiced it only once, toward the end of their time together in Bingtown. Hest had scoffed at it back then and forbidden him to speak again of his idiotic dream.

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    Hest had recalled the quarrel in detail as he had stood on the darkened deck, spending hours of his life functioning as a lamp stand as he held the lantern high. It was Sedric¡¯s fault he had come to this, he had decided. His lover had dreamed of gaining a fortune and moving far from Bingtown, to dwell together in luxury where they would not have to hide their relationship from Hest¡¯s wife or Bingtown society. Hest had told him not to be ridiculous, that they were fine as they were. Hest had had no wish to gamble his comfortable life. But, whether he willed it or not, Sedric had cast the dice for them. And instead of a fortune and a life of freedom in some exotic location, he had won slavery for Hest and whatever peculiar exile Sedric now endured.


    He had heard the dreams of the Chalcedean dragon-hunters. Sedric had not imagined the vast value of dragon parts. For the first time, he wondered if Sedric had gained his ambition, had harvested blood or scales, sold them and gone off to live alone the dream that Hest had mocked. No. He had not. For if Sedric had taken such plunder to the Duke of Chalced or to any of the trade contacts they knew, these others would have known of it. Perhaps they would even have been able to go home, knowing that someone else had finished their terrible quest for them. And if Sedric had acquired a fortune, he would have come back to Hest and pleaded with him to go with him. Of that Hest was certain. Sedric would always come back to him.


    So. What had become of Sedric and Alise? He did not much care why his frumpy little wife had not returned to him, but what had kept Sedric from his side? Being so deeply infatuated with Hest in his juvenile and romantic way, surely if Sedric could have come home, he would have, with or without dragon¡¯s blood to trade. And Captain Leftrin had claimed that both Alise and Sedric were alive. So much he had gleaned during his time in Trehaug and Cassarick.


    ¡®What is that?¡¯ A man¡¯s cry, full of wonder and perhaps fear sent everyone scrambling to the rails to peer over the side. Had the dragon returned? But a glance at the lookout showed him pointing, not at the river but at the sky.


    ¡®Parrots,¡¯ someone exclaimed in disgust. ¡®Just a flock of blue and green parrots.¡¯


    ¡®And gold and silver and scarlet and blue,¡¯ another man cried.


    ¡®They¡¯re a bit big for parrots ¡­¡¯


    It was not a flock of birds startled from their canopy home. These creatures came on swift, wide wings, more batlike in motion than birdlike. They flew in formation like geese, and even the powerful down-strokes of their wings were orchestrated, as if someone called cadence for them. Hest stared with the others and felt blood drain from his face. His hands and feet tingled and he could not voice what someone finally shouted, his voice still tinged with disbelief:


    ¡®Dragons! A flock of dragons!¡¯


    ¡®Fortune favours us! Ready your bows!¡¯ Lord Dargen shouted joyously. ¡®Attack as they fly over us. Let us bring down one or two of them, and return home with our holds full of dragon parts!¡¯


    For the first time, Hest realized that the man was mad. Insane with fear for his family, believing that somehow he could get the magical items that would bring them safely to him when he returned home. Hest suddenly knew with terrible certainty that they were no longer alive, that they had died terribly, probably months ago, possibly screaming the Chalcedean¡¯s name as they perished.


    This quest was all the man had left. It was only a fantasy. Even if he filled the ship with chunks of bloody meat and kegs of blood, there was no grand life for him to reclaim. To fulfil his mad goal would be as disastrous for him as to fail. But this was his life now and he was trapped in it as surely as he had imprisoned Hest in his madman¡¯s mission. Whatever doom he had brought upon himself, Hest would share. Weaponless, he stood and watched them come. Creatures of legend, glittering like gemstones against the endless grey sky, in the distance they looked more like adornments to a lady¡¯s elegant music-box than vengeful flying predators. All around him on the decks of both ships, men were running and shouting, stringing bows, demanding arrows of their fellows, limbering their arms with their throwing spears. They have no idea, Hest thought to himself. He had seen the blue dragon of Bingtown, Tintaglia, once. It had been in the distance, as he returned to Bingtown after she had driven off the Chalcedean warriors. He had thought her pretty then.


    But on his return to the city, he had seen what a dragon¡¯s wrath could do. She had not intended to pock the paving stones with acid holes, nor fill the harbour basin with sunken ships. That damage had been incidental. He had seen the harm that one dragon, fighting on behalf of a city, could do.


    He stood on the deck and tried to count the oncoming dragons. He stopped at ten. Ten times dead was very dead indeed. The slaves chained to their oars were praying. He was tempted to join them.

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    The dragons had flown through the night, ignoring cold and fitful rainfall. Sintara had expected to be exhausted by dawn, but they were not. They had flown on, as the sun rose, and on as it climbed into the sky. They had flown as if they had but one mind, reverting to the animals that perhaps dragons once had been. Mercor led their formation and Sintara had been proud to fly to his right. Blue-black Kalo had taken his left, and then Sestican and Baliper. Those three, she knew somehow, had been a long time with the golden dragon, perhaps swimming with him as serpents once. Quarrel they might among themselves, but now there was a common enemy to fight and vanquish. All differences among them were gone. Even their thirst for Silver had been suppressed. Fifteen strong, they had risen to Tintaglia¡¯s cry for vengeance.


    Silver Spit lumbered along at the tail of the line. Copper Relpda flew strongly, her early awkwardness scarcely a memory for her now. And ridiculous red Heeby flew wherever she would, now part of the formation, now trailing it, now flying to one side. Her slender scarlet rider sang as they flew, a song of anger and vengeance, but also one that praised the beauty of angry dragons in flight and painted a glorious victory for them. Ridiculous, and ridiculous that she and the others enjoyed it so. Thymara had complained more than once about how freely the dragons used their glamour to compel their keepers to tend them. Yet not once had she ever even admitted the power that human flattery and praise in song could exert over dragons. She was not the only dragon who flew with her mind full of Rapskal¡¯s glorious images of exotically beautiful dragons triumphing over every obstacle.


    They had flown straight, not following the river¡¯s meandering course. Dawn had come earlier for them than it had for the ships on the river¡¯s surface. The tall trees that surrounded this section of the Rain Wild River also blocked the earliest rays of the sun. The dragons had flown over the treetops, feeling the warmth of the sun limber their weary wings, and then, as the trees gave way to the open space of the river, they had seen their enemies in the distance.


    ¡®Vengeance, my beautiful ones, jewels of the day! We will visit death on them, a death so glorious they will die praising you!¡¯


    ¡®Destroy them all! Sink their ships!¡¯ Kalo¡¯s trumpet call of fury rang against the dead grey sky.


    Rapskal laughed aloud. ¡®Oh, no, my mighty one! There is no need to destroy such useful vessels. Only the killers must die. Leave enough for crew to row our prizes home! Some we may allow to live, as servants, to tend our kine and flocks for us. Others we may ransom! But for now, blaze terror into their hearts!¡¯


    The young Elderling glittered scarlet in the morning light, his garments of blue and gold like a battle banner in the wind. He broke into a deep-throated song in an ancient tongue, and Sintara discovered she recalled it of old. When Rapskal paused at the end of a stanza to draw breath, the dragons trumpeted in unison. Her hearts swelled with fury and joy at her own mightiness. They neared the hapless boats and swept low over them.


    The ships rocked in the wild wind of their passage. Those few who remembered to release their arrows saw their puny missiles wobble and spin in the dragon tempest. Leaves and twigs from the nearby trees showered down with a shushing sound and even the river leapt up in wavelets. The force sent Hest staggering to the wall of the ship¡¯s house.


    ¡®We¡¯re going to die here!¡¯ he shouted, for he suddenly saw it all clearly. The dragons would circle back and overfly them even lower. But no wind need they fear, for the danger of the acid they would spew down on them would make the wind seem like a friendly pat. Even a falling drop of the stuff would kill a man, eating through clothes and flesh and bone until it emerged from a stumbling corpse and buried itself in the earth. If the dragons breathed it out as a blanketing mist, only sodden wreckage and sizzling bones would remain of them.


    Hest screamed wordlessly as the images fully penetrated his mind.


    ¡®Get off the ships! Hide in the trees!¡¯ Someone shouted the order, and a wave of men scrambled to obey. From beneath the closed hatches, screams of terror rose but there was no time to think of anyone except himself. Get off the ship! It was his only possible chance to survive. He rushed to the railing and leapt amid a fountaining wave of other men doing likewise. He was fortunate that his ship was closest to the bank. The water, cold and stinging, closed over his head. He had shut his eyes tightly as he jumped and as he came up he floundered blindly, scarcely daring to open his eyes until he felt the slimy river bottom under his boots. Then he blinked rapidly, feeling the river water sting and haze his eyes for a moment before he scrabbled out onto the muddy, reed-choked bank.

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    He was one of the first ashore. Behind him, all was chaos on the boats and in the waters between them. Men had jumped haphazardly, some on the river side of the vessels, to be swept away in the stronger current there. Others were trapped between the ships, half-blinded and stunned by cold water and terror. They yammered and shrieked as the dragons swept back over them. The wind of their passage rocked the vessels, and the cries of the drowning men were submerged by the ear-splitting roars of the dragons as they passed. Hest was stunned by the sound, staggering and covering his ears. A full knowledge of the majesty and power of dragons suddenly filled him and he fell to his knees, weeping to think that he had dared defy such magnificent creatures. All around him, men were doing the same, begging for forgiveness and promising lifelong servitude if only they were spared. They knelt or prostrated themselves in the mud. Hest himself stood, his arms uplifted to the sky, and suddenly realized he was shouting praise to their beauty. In the distance, the dragons were beginning a wheeling turn. He knew two things with certainty: this time they returned to kill, and then, with an even greater clarity, he knew that the thoughts and feelings of the past few moments were not his own. It¡¯s like a dream, he told himself. A dream in which I do and say things I would never do or say in my waking life. This is not me; this is not of my own will. Then, as the dragons approached, all rational thought fled.


    Every human who could flee the ships had. Sintara was vaguely aware of men wailing in trapped dismay. Some were jumping about, heedless of how they damaged themselves as they fought chains that secured them to rowing benches. Humans evidently confined humans. Why, she could not guess and did not find it intriguing enough to puzzle about. It did not please her when Mercor led them to land in the shallows of the river and then wade ashore, but she sensed his purpose. The humans were now cut off from their ships. A few, she knew, fled mindlessly into the forest. They would die there, tonight or tomorrow. Humans were not able to live without shelter and food.


    But others crouched in the grasses or hid behind trees or simply prostrated themselves, sick with terror. Not one had been killed by tooth or claw or dragon¡¯s breath. Those who had perished had wrought their own deaths, their little minds unable to stand before the terrible glamour of a dragon¡¯s wrath and majesty. As the dragons waded out of the river, some of their captives wailed in terror. Then Heeby spoiled their grand procession out of the water by skidding to a halt on the mud bank, sending muck up in a spattering spray over the cowering humans. Sintara snorted in disdain.


    She noticed that Rapskal did not leap down from the scarlet dragon¡¯s back until she had moved to a less marshy site. Then he hopped down, his gay Elderling cloak aflutter about his shoulders. Those few invaders who were capable of a response other than terror gasped in awe at the sight of him. Grudgingly, she had to admit that he looked far grander than the squat humans in their murky clothes. Tall and slender, he was a fitting companion to the dragons. He looked about, a grim smile on his face, and then flung his cloak back over one shoulder. She felt almost proud of him as he strode forward and ordered the humans, ¡®Stand up! Come forward! It is time to be judged by those you have wronged.¡¯


    They obeyed. Even as the dragons eased the glamour that held them, the humans obeyed. Pulverized by terror, they had already been defeated. Wet and shaking with cold, they came forward to stand in a huddle. They were a motley assortment. Some were in rags, thin and scarred. Others were attired as bowmen, with leather on their wrists and close-fitting shirts, and there were those in the finery of noblemen. Of old, dragons had known all these sorts of men, and found that, stripped of their fabrics, they were all soft-skinned shrieking monkeys.


    Hest found himself obeying the command to come forward for judgment. He had found a small corner of his mind to call his own, so even as he stepped forward to join the others in a kneeling row, he recognized that the awe and terror he felt were not entirely rational. He dared a quick glance at the faces of his fellow captives. Some looked as blank as sheep facing slaughter but in others, he saw the struggle in their eyes. He knew a moment of consternation that some of the Chalcedean¡¯s rowing slaves were more cognizant of their own minds than the nobles who had commanded them. Then there was no time to think of anything, for a tall scarlet warrior was striding toward the line. Hest had never seen such bright garments as he wore. He walked with a fighter¡¯s stride, but wore no armour nor carried any weapon. Perhaps he needed none.


    He stopped a short distance from them. A red dragon had followed him to his inspection, but it was the great golden dragon that towered over both of them that held Hest¡¯s gaze. The creature¡¯s eyes were large and liquid, black over blackness. They seemed to swirl as he gazed into them, radiating calm. The largest dragon of all, a blue-black mountain, towered over the others. Light seemed to sink into him and vanish into his shimmering anger. His silver eyes reflected nothing. Someone spoke, the red man or the dragon, Hest did not know. ¡®Have you offered harm to a dragon?¡¯

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    ¡®No,¡¯ he said, for he had not. He had never shot an arrow or jabbed with a spear. He found himself standing and stepping back. Others were doing the same, slaves and crewmen and even one of the Chalcedean bowmen. Some remained kneeling and Hest had an ominous sensation of doom.


    ¡®Judgment is done,¡¯ the scarlet man proclaimed. ¡®You who have dared to raise hands against the glory of a dragon will spend the rest of your lives in servitude to them. That is the mercy of Mercor the Wise. A workman¡¯s village awaits you, where you can become useful. If you fail to serve willingly and well, you will be eaten. One way or another, your lives are forfeit for what you have done. You others have been part of a most evil expedition. You are not without guilt. But your families can buy you back, if they are inclined. If not, you can find useful labour among us. That will be discussed later, after we reach Kelsingra. For now, those who are evil will be transported in constraints.¡¯ He narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then pointed at two slaves and a crewman. ¡®You three will see to that. Confine them. Then organize a crew. The rest of you will bring the ships to Kelsingra. Those we claim as rightful booty, for you have invaded our territory without our permission and forfeit all that you have brought with you.¡¯


    He turned away from them and the shocked murmur that was arising. ¡®That is as much mercy as can be offered to you,¡¯ he concluded without regret and walked back to the waiting red dragon. She lowered her huge head and sniffed him. He stroked her face, his own expression becoming silly with affection for the beast.


    Hest knew a moment of utter disbelief. ¡®But ¡­¡¯ he began to protest, and then fell silent as the Chalcedean leapt to his feet. He shook his head like a man who stands in a swarm of midges and then raised a shout. ¡®No! I will never be a slave. I am Lord Dargen of Chalced and I will sooner die than bow my head to the yoke!¡¯


    His hands were just as fast as Hest remembered them. The little knives were snatched from hiding and took flight as if they had wills of their own. They did not miss. They rattled like hailstones off the hulking blue-black dragon¡¯s thick scales. One stuck for a moment at the corner of one of the great creature¡¯s silvery eyes. He shook his head and the dagger fell free. An oily drop of scarlet dragon blood welled from the wound and began a slow slide down the dragon¡¯s face.


    The Chalcedean gave a shout of triumph. It rang oddly in the absolute silence that had framed his act. Then a smaller silver dragon gave a shrill trumpet of outrage. But the blue-black one made no sound as he took one step forward. All around the Chalcedean, his fellows crouched or cowered as the dragon stretched his head toward the man. He did not hiss or roar as he opened his jaws. As a man might snap an offending branch from a wayside path, the dragon bit the Chalcedean in half. In one head-snapping gulp he swallowed his head and torso. A moment later, he picked up the man¡¯s hips and legs and likewise downed them. Then he turned and stalked off. One of Lord Dargen¡¯s hands and part of a forearm had been sheared off in the dragon¡¯s first bite. It remained where it had fallen, palm up on the muddy earth as if offering a final plea. One of the other Chalcedeans turned aside and vomited noisily.


    The scarlet man seemed unsurprised and untroubled. ¡®He has had his wish. He will not bow his head.¡¯ He turned back to his dragon and leapt lightly onto her shoulder and then settled himself just forward of her wings. She snapped her wings wide. All around them, the other dragons were crouching and then leaping skyward. Wave after wave of wind, heavy with the smell of dragon, washed over Hest, until only the red dragon and her scarlet rider remained. The warrior looked over them with hard eyes.


    ¡®Do not be slow. If you need guidance, look to the sky. There will always be a dragon over you, making sure that you do not pause until you reach Kelsingra.¡¯


    Then, to Hest¡¯s astonishment, the red dragon made a trundling run down the muddy strip of riverbank before leaping into the air. She flapped her wings frantically and ungracefully until she was airborne. In another time and place, he might have laughed at her ridiculous launch. Today, he knew only a moment of great relief that the dragons were gone.


    A ringing in his ears that he had not noticed faded. He blinked. The day seemed dimmer, the smells of the swampy riverbank less intense. Around him, other men were shifting, looking at one another, shaking their heads and rubbing their eyes.


    ¡®They made us accuse ourselves!¡¯ one of the Chalcedeans shouted in fury.


    A slave next to Hest stared at the man and then a sneer crossed his face. ¡®Is that what it takes to make a Chalcedean tell the truth? A dragon standing over you?¡¯