Rain Wilds Chronicles (184 page)

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 each other, 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.

L
eftrin risked one backward 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. Focus 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.

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 while 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 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 curtsied 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 took it a quick wrap 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 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. Leftrin continued, “Let's unload right away then. 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 onshore. 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 compressed 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 the 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.

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 he smiled to guess 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 the captain was heavyhearted 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 acknowledgment 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 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 acknowledgment of Leftrin's remark. But that was what he'd expected.

M
alta 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.

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 colored 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 colors 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 colors, lengthening limbs. Thymara's wings are astonishing now.”