Rain Wilds Chronicles (174 page)

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.”

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—”

“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.”

T
hey 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 was warning him of an approaching squall, and seen instead a tiny chip of sapphire floating against the gray 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 he 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 it by traveling at night, only to have it 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 somewhere. 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. Someday.

“I
s 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 onboard
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 lizardlike, 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 color 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 color 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?