Blood of Dragons (10 page)

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.

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.

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—'

‘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.'

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.