“Bring to Relpda. Relpda tired. ”
“Carson tired, too,” the hunter muttered, but it was a good-natured complaint. “I’ll go put a line on the stinking thing and pull it down here. You want me to leave the water with you?”
“Don’t go!” The words were out of his mouth reflexively. Rescue had only just arrived.
Carson grinned and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. I’ve gone to all this trouble to find you. I’m not about to abandon you here. ” Carson’s gaze met Sedric’s, and the words seemed to come from the hunter’s heart. Sedric didn’t know what to say.
“Thank you,” he managed at last. He looked away from the man’s earnest gaze. “I must seem a coward to you. Or an incompetent idiot. ”
“Neither one, I assure you. I won’t be long. I’m leaving the water with you. It’s all we’ve got right now, so go as easy on it as you can. ”
“It’s all we’ve got? Why did you let me drink so much?” Sedric was horrified.
“Because you needed it. Now, let me go get Relpda some nice rotten elk, and then I’ll be back. Maybe I’ll still have enough light to go up the trees and look for more food for us. ”
“Jess—” Sedric halted his words. He’d nearly told him that Jess had found fruit nearby. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Don’t mention the other hunter.
“What?”
“Just be careful. ”
“Oh, I’m always that. I’ll be back soon enough. ”
THE WATER HAD gone down. There was still plenty of dead fish to eat. It wasn’t fresh, but it was filling. She wasn’t dead. At least, not yet.
Sintara shifted her weight. Her feet were sore from the constant immersion. The water was less acid than it had been, but her claws still felt soft, as if they were decaying. And she had never had less hope for herself.
She, Sintara, a dragon who should have ruled the sea, the sky, and the land, had been picked up and tumbled head over heels like a rabbit struck by a hawk. She’d floundered and gasped. She’d clung to a log like a drowning rat. “No dragons have ever endured what we have,” she said. “None has ever sunk so low. ”
“There is nothing ‘low’ about survival,” Mercor contradicted her. As always, his voice was calm, almost placid. “Think of it as experience hard won, Sintara. When you die and are eaten, or when your young hatch from the egg, they will carry forward your memories of this time. No hardship endured is a loss. Someone will learn from it. Someone profits from it. ”
“Someone is tired of your philosophizing,” scarlet Ranculos grumbled. He coughed, and Sintara smelled blood. She moved closer to him. Among the dragons, his injury was the most serious. Something had struck his ribs as he tumbled in the flood. She could sense the pain he felt with every breath. For the most part, their scaled bodies had protected them. Sestican had a bruised wing that ached when he tried to open it. Veras complained of a burned throat from swallowing acid water. The lesser bruises that they all had scarcely seemed worth mentioning. They were dragons. They would heal.
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The river had retreated as the day wore on. There was something of a shore now. Bushes festooned with streamers of dead vines stuck up in a long bar of silty mud. It was a relief to be able to stand, to have her belly out of water, but walking about in the thick sucking mud was almost as wearying as swimming.
“So what would you have me say, Ranculos? That after we have come this far, through so much adversity, we should now lie down and die?” Mercor came slogging over to them. To stand so close to one another was not a normal behavior for dragons, Sintara recognized. But they were not normal dragons. Their years huddled together in the limited space near Cassarick had changed them. In times like these, times when they were weary and uncertain, they tended to gather. It would have been comforting to lie down and sleep next to Ranculos. But she would not. The mud was too deep. She would stand and doze tonight and dream of deserts and hot dry sand.
“No. Not here, at least,” Ranculos replied wearily.
Big blue Sestican slogged his way over to them. Mud streaked his azure hide. “Then it’s agreed. Tomorrow we move on. ”
“Nothing is agreed,” Mercor replied mildly. The gold dragon opened his wings and shook them lightly. Water and mud pattered down. His peacock-eyes markings were streaked with grime. She had not seen him so dirty since they had left Cassarick.
“Strange,” Sestican commented sourly. “It sounded to me that we had decided not to lie down and die here. So the alternative would be, I think, to keep moving on, toward Kelsingra. ”
“Kelsingra,” said Fente. She made the name sound like a curse. The little green dragon fluffed out the fronds of her immature mane. If she’d been properly grown, it would have appeared threatening. As it was, she reminded Sintara of a green-and-gold blossom on a skinny stem.
“I, for one, see no reason to wait for the keepers. We don’t need them. ” Kalo wandered over. He limbered his wings as he came, spreading their blue-black expanse and shaking them to rid them of mud. They were larger than Mercor’s. Was he attempting to remind them all that he was the largest and most powerful male?
“You’re splattering mud all over me. Stop it. ” Sintara lifted the frills along her neck, confident that her own display was at least as intimidating as his.
“You’re so covered with mud now, I don’t know how you’d tell,” Kalo complained, but he folded his wings all the same.
Sintara was in no mood to let him make peace so easily. “And you may not need your keeper, but I’ve a use for mine. Tomorrow I will have them both groom me. I might have to stand in mud, but there’s no reason I must wear it. ”
“Mine is negligent. Lazy. Full of himself. Angry at everyone. ” Kalo’s eyes spun with anger and unhappiness.
“Does he still think that perhaps butchering a dragon and selling him like meat would solve his problems?” Sestican baited him happily.
Kalo rose to it. No matter how often he complained of what a poor keeper Greft was, he would not tolerate comments critical of him. Even after Greft had made his obscene suggestion, Kalo had snapped at any of the others who dared complain about him. So now he opened his jaws wide and hissed loudly at Sestican.
He seemed as surprised as any of them when a bluish mist of venom issued from his mouth, to hang briefly in the air. Sintara lidded her eyes and turned her face away. “What are you about?” Fente demanded angrily. The little green splattered mud up on all of them as she scampered out of reach of the cloud. Sestican immediately stretched his own jaws wide and gathered breath.
“Stop!” Mercor commanded. “Stop it, both of you!”
He had no more right to issue orders than any other dragon. Nonetheless, that never prevented him from doing it, thought Sintara. And almost always, the others obeyed him. There was something in his bearing that commanded their respect, even their loyalty. Now he waded closer to Kalo. The big blue-black dragon stood his ground, even half lifting his wings as if he would challenge Mercor. But the golden dragon had no intention of seeking battle. Instead, he stared intently at the other big male, his black eyes whirling as if they gathered up the darkness around them.
“Now do that again,” Mercor challenged him, but not as male to male. Rather he stared at Kalo as if he could not believe what he had witnessed. He was not alone. The other dragons, sensing something about the urgency in Mercor’s voice, were drawing nearer.
“But downwind of us!” Sestican interjected.
“And put some heart in it,” Mercor added.
Kalo folded his wings. He did it slowly, and slowly was how he turned away from the gathering dragons, to face downwind of them. If he was attempting to make it appear he was not obeying Mercor, he failed, thought Sintara. But she kept the thought to herself, for she too wished to see if he could, indeed, spit venom. All of them should have been capable of it since they emerged from their cases, but none
had achieved reliability or potency with that most basic weapon in a dragon’s arsenal. Had Kalo? She watched his ribs swell as he took in air. This time, she saw him work the poison glands in his throat. The muscles in his powerful neck rippled. He threw back his head and snapped it forward, jaws opening wide. He roared and a visible mist of bluish toxin rode with the sound. It drifted in a cloud over the water. She was not the only dragon to rumble in amazement. She watched the toxin disperse and heard the very soft hiss when acid met acid as it settled on the water.
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Before anyone else could react, Fente propelled herself out into the open river. She shook herself all over, opened her wings wide, and threw back her head. When she launched her toxin with a trumpet like a woman screaming, the cloud was smaller but more dense. Again and again, she shrieked it forth, until on her fourth try there was no visible sign of poison. Nonetheless, she turned to all of them and proclaimed, “Make no mistake. You may all be larger than I am, but I am just as deadly as any of you are. Respect me!”
“It would be wiser to save your toxins for hunting rather than making a show of them,” Mercor rebuked her mildly. “You have no way of knowing how long it will take you to recover them. If you saw game right now, it would escape you. ”
The small green dragon spun to face them. Now the layered fronds of her immature mane stood out stiffly around her neck. She shivered them, a move more serpent than dragon. “Don’t preach to me about wisdom, golden one. Nor hunting. I do not need your advice. Now that I have my poison again, I am not sure that I even need your company. ”
“Or your keeper?” Ranculos asked in mild curiosity.
“That remains to be seen,” she snapped. “Tats grooms me, and it pleases me to hear him praise me. I may keep him. But having a keeper does not mean I must stay in company with you or those other raggle-taggle keepers. Nor do I need to be near keepers so disrespectful they speak of butchering a dragon as if he were a cow. ” She beat her wings, stirring air and spattering water. “I have my poison and soon I will be able to fly. Then I will need nothing of anyone save myself. ”
“So Heeby spoke of flying, too,” Sestican said quietly.
“Heeby. That’s not even her true name. She couldn’t even summon her true name. Heeby. That’s a name for a dog or a rather stupid horse. Not a dragon. ”
“Speak no ill,” Mercor advised her. “Her end might be the same one we all meet. ”
“She didn’t end because she never began,” Fente retorted. “Half a dragon is no dragon at all. ”
Privately, Sintara agreed with her. The dimmer dragons still distressed her in a way she could not explain. To be around a creature with the shape of a dragon but to have no sense of that creature thinking the thoughts of a dragon was unsettling. One night she had overheard some of the keepers telling “ghost” stories to one another and wondered if that were not the same sensation. Something was there, but not there. A familiar shape with no substance to it.
And that was exactly what she saw now as the silver dragon with no name laboriously paddled out into the river. His tail had long healed, but he still held it stiffly as if the skin were too tight. His body had muscled from travel, and since his keepers had wormed him, he had put on healthier flesh. But his legs were still stumpy and short. The wings he now spread were almost normal, however. All the dragons watched in silence as he lifted them carefully, flapped them several times in imitation of Fente, and then drew back his head. When he snapped it forward, jaws wide, Sintara saw that his teeth were twice the size of Fente’s and double rowed. And the cloud of toxin that came forth with his guttural roar was thick and nearly purple. The droplets were large and they fell, hissing, onto the river’s surface. Sintara turned her face away from the acrid scent of strong venom.
“This half a dragon,” the silver said, “can make you no dragon at all. ” He turned to glare at them, making sure they understood the threat. “Name? I TAKE a name. Spit my name. My name what I do. Fente, say my name. ”
The small green dragon spun away from him. She tried to remove herself in a dignified way, but dragons were not designed for swimming. She looked hasty and awkward as she scuttled out of his range. Spit laughed, and when Fente turned her head to hiss at him, he released a small cloud of floating toxins at her. The river wind wafted it away before it could do her any harm. Even so, Mercor reacted to it.
“Spit, save your venom. One of our hunters is gone, and our keepers have lost several of their boats and almost all their weapons. They are not going to be able to hunt as productively as they once did. All of us must strive harder to make our own kills. Save your venom for that. ”
“Maybe I eat Fente,” Spit suggested poisonously. But then he turned and paddled back to the shallower water. He waded out onto the muddy shore and with a fine disregard for the filth, flung himself down to sleep. Sintara suddenly envied him. It would be so good to lie down. She could sleep. When she woke, Thymara and Alise could clean her. She was already dirty, so a bit more mud wouldn’t make any difference. And it was time they both showed some gratitude for her saving them.
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Her mind made up, she slogged to what she judged the highest point on the mudbank and eased herself down to sleep. The mud accepted her shape, coldly at first, but as she lay still, almost as a bed of thick grasses would, it warmed her. She lowered her head to her front legs to keep her nose out of the mud and closed her eyes. It was so good to lie down.
Around her, she could hear the other dragons following her example. Ranculos found his old spot beside her, favoring his left side as he lay down. Sestican settled on the other side.
The dragons slept.
Day the 24th of the Prayer Moon
Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
In this case, a message from Hest Finbok, delivered by pigeon from Jamaillia to be sent on, by the swiftest means possible, to the barge Tarman and its passengers Sedric Meldar and Alise Finbok, directing them to return to Bingtown at the earliest possible moment. Traders in Cassarick and Trehaug to be informed by a general posting in both Trader Concourses that no debts incurred by these two will be honored by the Finbok family after the 30th day of the Prayer Moon.
Detozi!
Someone sounds very unhappy! I confess I am becoming intrigued. Has she run off with his secretary? But why decamp to the Rain Wilds? The gossip here is that both of them seemed well content with their lives, so all are astounded and scandalized at the prospect.
Erek
CHAPTER TEN
CONFESSIONS
Relpda tore into the carcass with no complaints about how it stank. Sedric wished he could share her equanimity about it. She stood now always at the edge of his mind and thoughts. The stench of the meat and its rank flavor were like ghost memories in his mouth. He pushed them away, trying not to let it taint the fruit that Carson had gathered.
The hunter had come back as he had promised. Relpda had still been reluctant to reenter the water, so the two men had maneuvered the floating carcass within reach of her raft. It was streaked with mud and had been sampled by scavengers. Relpda didn’t care. Since they had delivered it to her, her only thought had been to fill her belly.
The smooth-barked trees that had defied Sedric had yielded to Carson. For such a large man, he was very spry. He appeared to have no more difficulty ascending than a spider had in running up a wall. Sedric had tried to follow him, but his river-scalded hands were too tender for climbing. He’d given up when he was just over twice his height up the tree. Even backing down had been tricky. When he launched backward from the trunk, he’d landed badly. Now his ankle was tender.
Carson had returned from his climb just as darkness was falling. He cradled a sling of fruit, some like the stuff that Jess had brought, and two other k
inds, one yellow and sweet, and the other the size of his fist, hard and green. So many plants and trees grew in the Rain Wilds, and he knew so little about any of it. He picked up one of the green fruits and turned it in his hands until Carson took it from him without a word and tapped it on the log between them as if it were a hard-boiled egg. The thick green shell peeled away from a pulpy white skin. “Eat it all,” Carson advised him. “They don’t taste like much, but there’s a lot of moisture in them. ”
Carson had talked himself out. Sedric had heard the full tale of the wave hitting the ship, and how they had ridden it out, recovered the captain, and then discovered most of the missing keepers. Sedric has been shocked to discover that Alise had not been safely on board the vessel, and relieved she was safe. He’d let the hunter talk himself all the way to silence. Now he watched Sedric. He watched him closely, not with a direct stare, but from the corner of his eye and through his lashes. He shared the fruit out evenly between them, with no mention that Sedric hadn’t done a thing to earn his. Even after he fed the dragon, Sedric kept waiting for Carson to bring up a scheme to kill the creature and make a profit on it. If the other hunter and the captain were in on that plot, it only made sense that Carson would be, too. And if Jess had shared his knowledge of Sedric’s specimens with Carson, that would explain him and Davvie being so attentive and visiting Sedric’s room so often. They’d both know that he had brought dragon blood on board the Tarman. Find that trove, and they’d be wealthy men.
When the fruit was gone, Carson had fetched a heavy iron pot from his boat, poured in a small amount of oil, and set fire to it. He cut bits of wood and resinous branch tips from the drier hunks of driftwood and fed the fire in the pot. It gave off smoky light and welcome heat and kept some of the insects at bay. The two men sat, watching the night deepen over the river. Stars began to show in the strip of sky overhead.
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Carson cleared his throat. “I thought you couldn’t talk to the dragons. Couldn’t understand what they said at all. ”