Dragon Haven (33 page)

But she’d excused herself from the table and vanished into her own room.

What did that mean?

Probably that she was a lot smarter than he was. Which, he told himself, he’d known all along. What intelligent man would want to share harness with a woman stupider than himself? His Alise was smart, and he knew it. Not just educated but intelligent.

But he wished she hadn’t chosen to be smart on this particular night.

And what sort of a man was he, that he felt Sedric’s absence as a sort of relief rather than a loss? The man had been Alise’s friend since childhood. He knew that. He might find him an annoying spoiled twit of a fellow, but Alise cared about him. She was probably wondering if he was dead or in dire circumstances tonight. And here he was, brutishly thinking only that the watchman was gone.

He finished his circuit of his ship and stood for a time on Tarman’s blunt-nosed bow. He leaned on the railing and looked at the “shore.” Somewhere there the dragons slept in the mud, but he couldn’t see them. The forest was pitch before his eyes. He spoke to his ship.

“Well, tomorrow’s another day, Tarman. One way or another, Carson will return. And then what? Onward?”

Of course.

“You seem so sure of it.”

I remember it.

“So you’ve told me. But not the way it is now.”

No. That’s true.

“But you think we ought to keep going?”

The others have no choice. And I think it’s the least we can do for them.

Leftrin said nothing. He glided his hands lightly along the bow railing, thinking. Tarman was an old ship, older than any of the other liveships. He was one of the first to have been put together from wizardwood, as it was known then. He hadn’t been designed to be a trading ship of any kind, only a simple wooden barge, given a thick layer of the only sort of wood that seemed impervious to the Rain Wild River’s acid rages. In a tradition much older than Bingtown or even Jamaillia, Leftrin’s ancestor had painted eyes on his ship not only to give it a wise expression but as a superstition that the barge would literally “watch out” for itself on the dangerous waterway. At the time, the only known properties of wizardwood were that it was hard and heavy and could withstand acid. No one had known then that after lifetimes of human presence on board, a liveship could attain its own awareness. That would not be discovered until the first sailing ships with figureheads were carved from the stuff.

But that didn’t mean that Tarman hadn’t become aware. It didn’t mean that his captains hadn’t known and felt his presence.

The sailors of Leftrin’s lineage had known there was something peculiar about their ship, especially those who grew up on his deck, who slept and played aboard him. They developed an affinity for both the barge and the river, an instinctive knack for navigating and for avoiding the ever-shifting sandbars and hidden snags of the forest waterway. They dreamed strange dreams that they seldom shared except with other members of the family. The dreams were not just dreams of the river and sliding silently through it. They had dreams of flying and sometimes dreams of swimming in a deep and blue-shadowed world.

Tarman had become aware, just as all liveships eventually did.
But he had no mouth to speak with, no carved hands or human face. He was silent, but his eyes were old and knowing.

Perhaps Leftrin should have left him that way. Things had been good between them. Why had he desired to try to make them better?

The wizardwood log had been both a windfall and a complication in his life.

He’d made his plans so carefully. He’d reduced his crew to a handful of men whom he absolutely trusted. He’d found men who had worked wizardwood, men with sterling reputations for honesty and carpentry skill. He’d scrimped and saved and bartered for the tools he needed to have. And when all was ready, he’d transported them to where he had found and secured the log of wizardwood.

And he had done it knowing that it was neither log nor wood.

He’d run Tarman aground, and then with lines and pulleys he’d winched the barge up into an isolated inlet along the river’s shore. He’d lost most of a summer’s work to that project. The wizardwood log had to be cut into rough planks and blocks on site and then fastened to Tarman. The barge had to be lifted up on blocks to allow the workmen access to the bottom; the soft ground along the river meant that every day, the blocking had to be reinforced and releveled.

But when all was finished Tarman had what the barge had conveyed to Leftrin it most desired. Four stout legs with webbed feet and a long tail had been added to the hull. Tarman could now go almost anywhere he and his captain wished to go.

It had taken several weeks for Tarman to get complete motion in all his limbs. Leftrin had been terrified for him the first time the blocks were jerked out from under the hull. But Tarman had caught himself, with difficulty, and slowly dragged himself back into the river. The ship’s eyes had gleamed with satisfaction as he propelled himself about in the shallows. He was equally content to swim in the river or crawl along in the shallows. His crew became more a sham than a workforce. They preserved the illusion that Tarman was a barge like any other.

Every scrip and scrap of leftover “wood” had been stowed in
side Tarman as dunnage. Not so much as a sliver of the stuff had he sold; that would have been breaking faith with his ship. He respected the dragon stuff Tarman was made from. As the weeks and months passed, he had sensed the ship integrating his new material and memories. Tarman’s placid nature had changed; he had become more assertive and adventurous, sometimes even edging into mischievousness. Leftrin had enjoyed the changes in his ship just as much as if he’d been watching a child grow to manhood. Tarman’s eyes had become more expressive, his connection to his captain more eloquent, and his efficiency as a barge a wonder. If any of the other Traders suspected Leftrin’s secret, none asked about it. Almost every Trader had his own store of undisclosed magic or technology. Not prying too deeply into the affairs of others was an essential part of being a Trader. Leftrin had had no problems, and his profits had steadily grown.

All had been well until one of the carvers had flapped his mouth to that Chalcedean trader, and the hunter had come on board to threaten them, his own kind. Leftrin gritted his teeth so hard that it made a noise. Beneath him, he felt Tarman dig his feet into the mud in anger.
Betrayal! Betrayal is not to be tolerated. The traitor must be punished
.

Leftrin immediately loosened his grip on the railing and calmed his own emotions. The captain of a liveship always had to keep a rein on his darker thoughts. His emotions could infect his ship in dangerous ways. The strength and clarity of Tarman’s response startled him. He seldom conveyed his thoughts so directly. He had not realized the ship felt so strongly about the hunter. So now he calmly pointed out that the river had done their task for them. Jess was gone, most likely drowned.

At that thought, he sensed a wave of grim satisfaction from the ship, tinged with a bloody amusement. Did the ship know more of Jess’s fate than he had shared? Leftrin wondered uneasily. And then he hastily turned his thoughts away from that. The liveship had a right to his own secrets. If he had seen Jess struggling in the water and deliberately turned away from him, that was the ship’s business, not Leftrin’s.

Don’t be troubled about that. I didn’t need to do anything so crude.

He ignored the amusement in the ship’s tone. “Well, I’m glad of that, Tarman. I’m glad of that. If I’d had to face that, well. Just glad it was a decision that didn’t come my way.” He sensed the ship’s calm assent. “And tomorrow we can expect Carson to rejoin us.”

Yes. You should expect that.

Sometimes the ship just knew things. The ship had heard Carson’s horn when he’d first found the survivors and told Leftrin. The captain had learned better than to ask him how he sensed things or to ask for details. Only once had Tarman been in a mood to tell him anything, and then he had only said,
Sometimes the river shares its secrets with me. Sometimes, but not always.
For tonight, Leftrin simply accepted that tomorrow the hunter would rejoin them, and he asked no more. Instead he suggested, “Think we’ll head upriver tomorrow, then? Or anchor another night here?”

Probably another night here. The dragons can use a bit more rest, and there is still dead fish for them to feed on. If they are going to take rest, they may as well have it while there is food. Even if it is rank food.

“Will they sicken on it?”

Dragons are not such a feeble race as humans. Carrion displeases the palate and eating too much of it can bring on a bellyache. But dragons can eat what they must, and when dead fish is all that is to be had, then they will eat it. And go on.

“As shall we, then,” Leftrin affirmed.

As was agreed,
the barge reminded him.

“As was agreed,” the captain concurred. For he had not been quite honest with Alise in that small matter. The fact was that even before he had docked in Cassarick, he had known that he and Tarman would be escorting the dragons up the river. It was why he had been able to load so swiftly and depart. The fact that it dovetailed so completely with Alise’s plans had seemed like fate to him, as if he were predestined to enjoy her company. It had been a wonder and a pleasure to see her shine at that meeting.

She’s not asleep. She’s in the sneaking whiner’s chamber.

“I think I might just go check on that. See if she’s having trouble sleeping.”

Think you might have the cure for such wakefulness?
the ship asked him in amusement.

“Perhaps some quiet talk with a friend,” Leftrin returned with what dignity he could muster.

Didn’t know you’d already introduced her to your “friend.” You go along. I’ll keep watch here.

“Watch your words!” Leftrin rebuked his ship, but felt only Tarman’s amusement in response. “You’re chatty tonight.” He made the comment not just to divert the ship’s attention but because he had seldom experienced such clarity of thought from Tarman. It was much more common for him to have an unusual dream, or to sense emotions through his connection to the ship. Direct conversation with Tarman was highly unusual and he wondered at it.

Sometimes,
the ship agreed.
Sometimes, when the river is right and the dragons are close by, it all seems easier and clearer.
There was a time of stillness and then Tarman added,
Sometimes you are more willing to hear me. When our thoughts align. When we agree on what we want. We both know what you want right now.

He lifted his hands from the railing and went in search of Alise. Despite his attempt at rebuking the barge, a small smile crept across his face. Tarman knew him far too well.

He stood for a time on the dark deck outside Sedric’s door. Tarman was right. A very faint glow was visible at the crack at the bottom of the door. He tapped lightly and waited. For a time, all was silence. Then he heard the scuff of feet on the deck and the door opened a crack. Alise peered out, limned against a faint candle glow.

“Oh!” She sounded surprised.

“I saw the light coming out from under the door. Thought I’d best check on who was in here.”

“It’s only me.” She sounded disheartened.

“I see that. May I come in?”

“I’m…I’m in my nightrobe. I came here from my cabin when I couldn’t sleep.”

He could see that also. Her nightrobe was long and white and rather plain, the simple lines of it interrupted only by the
complex curves of the woman inside it. Her red hair had been brushed and plaited into two long braids. It took years away from her face. Her little bare feet peeped out the bottom of the robe. If she’d had any idea of how desirable it made her look, she’d never have dared open the door to anyone!

But her eyes and the end of her nose were reddened from crying. And it was that more than anything else that made him step into the room, close the door firmly behind him, and take her into his arms. She stiffened slightly but did not resist him, even when he pulled her close and kissed the top of her hair. How could she smell like flowers still? He closed his eyes as he embraced her and heaved a heavy sigh. “You mustn’t cry,” he told her. “We haven’t given up hope yet. You mustn’t cry and you mustn’t torment yourself like this. It doesn’t do a bit of good for anyone.”

He refused to think anymore. He stooped and kissed her left eye. She gasped.

When he kissed her other eye, her arms rose and linked tight around his neck. He put his mouth on hers, and her lips opened so softly and easily to his that his heart shook. She was trembling, pressed hard against him. He held the kiss, feeling and tasting the warmth of her mouth. He straightened up and still she clung to him, not letting him break the kiss. He lifted her easily and she hooked her knees over his hips with no pretense of keeping her legs together.

“Alise,” he gasped, warning her.

“Don’t talk!” she responded fiercely. “No talking at all!”

So he didn’t.

Two shuffling steps crossed the small room. He tried not to crush her as he lowered her to the bed, but she would not let go of him and he all but fell on top of her. He was between her legs, nothing but the canvas of his trousers and the bunched fabric of her nightdress between them. He pressed himself against her, warning her, wanting her. Instead of heeding the warning, she surged up against him. He kissed her again, finding her breasts free within her nightdress. He hefted the weight of them while he kissed her, found her ripe nipples and gently teased them.
She made a small sound in her throat and pressed herself into his hands.

Emboldened, he slid a hand down her belly and lifted his body slightly from hers to touch her with his fingers. She gasped, and gave the unmistakable shudder of a woman in climax. He was astonished and almost insufferably pleased at her responsiveness. He hadn’t even entered her!

But if he thought his brushing touch had satisfied her, he was wrong. When she opened her eyes to look at him, her gaze was wild and hungry. “Don’t stop,” she warned him.