Rain Wilds Chronicles (207 page)

“What?”

“Climb!” she shouted up the shaft. “Climb fast!” She went up the rope like a frightened monkey, gained the chain and did not pause. The one gauntlet was a hindrance on the slick chain; there was no time to strip it off. She raced a zigzagging crack in the wall that paralleled her progress. It shone silver as the long-suffering stones gave way to the pressure behind them. They opened with sharp pops that hurt her ears.

Rapskal had paid attention to her cry. He was waiting for her at the top of the well, grabbing her by the shoulders of her tunic and jerking her to safety. “Do we run?” he asked her, and his eyes were his own again, wide in a scared face.

“Uphill!” she confirmed, and they retreated to the edge of the plaza. Dimly she recalled a tale of a time when the silver had overflowed the well and run down the streets to the river. People, fish, and birds had died from its touch.

Overpowering curiosity made them pause at the edge of the square to look back. The dragons had not fled. They stood by the well mouth, visibly shivering with excitement. They both had their heads lowered inside the shaft. As they watched, Sintara dropped to her front knees and stretched her neck down farther. She looked ridiculous, hunkered down. Her ribs worked as she crouched there, and abruptly Heeby followed her example. Were they drinking?

Thymara gasped for breath, her gauntleted hand on Rapskal's shoulder. Dawn was starting to gray the sky at the eastern edge of the horizon. The dragons still drank. No Silver reached the top and brimmed over. Then Heeby uttered a squeal of protest and lifted her gleaming dripping muzzle. She stared at Rapskal indignantly. His voice was his own as he said, “She's furious. Sintara's neck is longer and she can still reach the Silver, but Heeby can't.” He lifted his voice. “Don't you worry, pretty girl. I'll fill buckets and buckets for you. I promise.”

Thymara's mind began to work again. “The buckets Tats and the other keepers used to haul rubble away from the well. We need to fill them with Silver and get them to Tintaglia. I'll lower them down and haul them up. You don't touch them unless I say it's safe.”

He nodded and turned to look at the gloved hand that gripped his shoulder. He scowled. “What is that made from?” he demanded.

Thymara didn't look at him or it as she put the second gauntlet on. Heeby lay as much on her belly as a dragon could, her head down the well, struggling to reach the stuff. She watched her own dragon gulping down the Silver as if her life depended on it. It did. She understood a little of what Sintara had told her about hating dependence of any kind. Dependence forced one to make compromises, ones they would rather not recall. She looked at the glove on her hand, heavy leather with the scale beds still visible.

“Dragon hide,” she said. “The only thing impervious to Silver.” She felt a shadow wash over her and looked up. Dragons were circling, and a moment later, their wild trumpeting filled the air. “We'd better get those buckets filled now if we're going to get any,” she told him, and he nodded.

T
he baby was squalling, a lusty angry cry. Malta was laughing and crying as she fumbled at the front of her tunic. When she freed her breast, Ephron seized it indignantly; his cries stopped so suddenly that Reyn laughed aloud. Their son was thin, his eyes sunken and his little hand a claw on her breast, but he was alive and fighting to remain so. He suckled so hard that Malta winced, and then laughed again.

“She heard me,” she told Reyn. “At the last, she heard us. She changed him.” Tears ran down her face and followed the curves of her smile. She leaned forward to touch her dragon. The breath from her nostrils barely stirred the fine hair on Ephron's head. “He's going to live, Tintaglia. He's going to live, and I will see he remembers all I know about you.”

In another part of the city, a wild trumpeting of dragons suddenly arose. Malta turned to Reyn. “I think they know. And soon Kalo will be here to take what is left of her.”

Reyn asked the dreadful question they had both wondered. “Will that make him of her lineage, if he takes her memories? Will he know how to help Ephron again if he needs it? Or if we have other children?”

“I don't know,” she replied
. Other children.
A foolish dream, perhaps. They had one, one to cherish, one whose eyes were closed now, his little round belly tight and full. Had they a right to hope for anything more than that?

“That's Kalo coming. He's flying fast. My dear, we have to leave her now. Come. Up and out of the way.” Reyn stood stiffly and bent to help Malta stand.

Kalo was coming in fast, and he pushed them with a wild command.
Out of the way!

Malta shot to her feet and scrambled back, clutching the baby that now wailed at being awakened. There were other dragons coming in behind him, gold Mercor and nasty little Veras. “I don't want to watch it,” Malta wailed, turning her face into Reyn. “She's not even dead yet! How can they?”

“It's their way, my dear. It's their way.” His arms closed around her and the child. Despite the horror she felt, she turned back to watch the dragons land around the fallen queen.

Kalo flung back his head and then snapped it forward. He darted his head in, jaws wide, and despite herself, Malta screamed.

A thick silvery mist emerged from his mouth. He leaned closer to Tintaglia, breathing it out on her. Then he whipped his head again, and again spewed a fog of Silver onto her. Mercor landed beside him. Kalo trumpeted territorially, but the smaller male ignored him. He copied him, misting Tintaglia with drifting Silver as Veras waited her turn. It settled on the supine dragon, coating her in Silver.

The slight morning breeze was carrying the stuff. “Get back!” Reyn shouted as sleepy keepers began to emerge from the bath hall. They stumbled back, but the mist was heavy. Malta flung her cloak over her baby. They turned and ran, fleeing up the steps of a nearby building. The Silver made a sizzling sound as it settled on the paving stones. Malta looked back. For an instant, tiny silver balls seemed to rattle and dance on the pavement before they darted into the cracks and vanished.

“Look at her!” Reyn gasped, and Malta turned her eyes back to her dragon.

Tintaglia was shrouded with moving Silver. It slid over her skin as if caressing her. She saw it boiling in the dragon's wounds and cried out in low horror at the sound and the smell it made. It sank into the dragon where it coated her, vanishing like ink absorbed into a cloth. Like ink, the color remained on her, a silver haze over her blue scales, like fog on a window. Malta held her breath.

Malta stared at a slash on Tintaglia's shoulder. It bubbled at the edges. Slime and bits of dead flesh rose and dribbled down the dragon's skin. In their wake the gash was closing, filling in with sound flesh and a coating of paler, smaller scales.

Tintaglia made a low rumbling sound, perhaps an expression of discomfort. Malta's sense of the dragon grew stronger; she shared both her distress at the unfamiliar sensations racing through her and her discomfort as her torn flesh was so quickly rebuilt. Her breath came louder, faster, and then the dragon was panting as if she were flying hard. The thundering of her hearts as her blood raced through her healing body became an audible thumping. Her eyes opened, wide and staring, and she opened her mouth to gasp in deep breaths of air.

“It's killing her!” Reyn voiced their fear.

No.
Mercor's thought was reassuring.
We think she is strong enough to endure this. And if she is not, well, we have done no harm.

The dragons that had sprayed Tintaglia stood at a respectful distance, watching. Briefly, Malta was more aware of them. They radiated vitality now. The glamour of their beauty was effortless. So magnificent were they. She could not doubt the wisdom of what they had done to Tintaglia. They were dragons; what right had she to question them in anything?

Hungry.
The thought was strong enough to send every keeper staggering back. Tintaglia closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she once more looked out from them. “I need to hunt,” she said. She came slowly to her feet, as if every motion had to be remembered before she could perform it. She was emaciated still, but her scales shimmered with light. She lifted her wings, stretched them, and then refolded them. As she did so, a small metal object fell to the paving stones. She looked down at the ejected arrowhead, and then thrust it away with her foot. “They will pay for that,” she vowed. And then, “I go to hunt.”

Tintaglia, blue queen, crouched and then sprang into the air. The wind of her wing beats staggered Malta and stung her eyes. “She flies!” she cried aloud. Pride filled her heart. “The most beautiful of all queens flies!”

I am that,
Tintaglia agreed, and winged toward the hunting grounds of the foothills.

Day the 15th of the Plough Moon

Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

From Master Godon of the Trehaug Bird Keepers' Guild and with the consent of the full circle of masters in Trehaug

 

Sent in a triply sealed message cylinder and to be opened only before a full convening of the Guild masters in Bingtown, with Master Kerig Sweetwater in attendance to explain the circumstances, and in completely discreet circumstances.

Please allow Master Kerig to explain the circumstances of how we have come into possession of this document. He and we are of the considered opinion that it is genuine and that the Guild should extend thanks to Detozi and Erek Dunwarrow for the discreet manner in which they have handled an extremely difficult situation.

The message we have intercepted appears to be from Master Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick, to a Chalcedean merchant in Bingtown. The message is water damaged and written in Chalcedean, but its existence, regardless of content, is sufficient cause to suspend Keeper Kim and make a complete and intensive inspection of his coops and records.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

Seductions

I
have broken no laws. I am the son of a Bingtown Trader. I did not come here to kill dragons. I should be free to walk about the city.”

“Don't think so, my fine friend.”

Hest scowled, making the sailor grin as he added. “See, it's our city, so we get to make the rules. And we decided that none of you are going to go walking about on your own. So. Here you'll stay, unless one of us thinks it's a good idea to take you for a stroll. Somehow I doubt that will happen. So relax. You're not suffering. You're warm, you got food. You can go take another bath if you want. That's fine. You can go up to the tower and look out of the window. That's allowed. But you're not leaving this building alone until we load you up on the boat to take you downriver. That's one thing everyone agreed on.” He shrugged. “Find someone willing to trust you, and you can take a walk outside with him. Some of the others have. But you don't get to go anywhere alone.”

“You're not an Elderling. What right do you have to the city? What right do you have to a vote on what becomes of us?” Hest raised his voice, hoping that some of the others might take up his cause. No one did. The Jamaillian merchants had begged paper and ink from Alise and were attempting to draw up some sort of a trade agreement, as if they could just bypass Bingtown's and Trehaug's Traders' Councils. Fools. Trader Candral continued to stare morosely into the distance. He'd already written his confession and handed it over to the river captain. He was probably imagining what would become of him when he returned to Cassarick. His face was still bruised from the drubbing the sailors and Traders had given him on the journey here. The rowing slaves seemed to be enjoying idleness, warmth, and food. The Chalcedeans were watching the altercation but seemed unwilling to be associated with his cause.
Cowards. No allies there at all.

“Some might say I've no right to a vote here,” the sailor conceded. “Except that everyone else from the expedition agreed that I did. So I cast my vote along with the others. You might be a bit nicer to me. I voted that we shouldn't let the dragons eat any of you. Might start a real bad habit, was my thought. Though when I'm dead, I've decided, it's fine with me if they eat me and remember everything I've ever seen or done. Spit's the one I'd choose to eat me. That mean little devil is full of spite and vinegar. I'm betting he'll outlive all those other bigger dragons.”

Hest shook his head in disgust and turned away. There were two doors out of the gathering hall, and they'd put a guard on each of them. Earlier today, one had been a skinny girl with pink scaling and blond hair. He'd tried to charm her into letting him take a stroll around the square, just to stretch his legs. She looked at him and replied not a word. When he'd tried to just walk past her, she hadn't blocked him. She'd only said, “My dragon is the large gold one sleeping in the sun on the steps.” Hest hadn't challenged her after that.

“Glad to see you. Boring way to waste the first nice day we've had!” The sailor's words weren't for him. The youngster who came to take the sailor's place nodded. “Wind off the hills today, Hennesey. You can smell spring in the air.” His words were cheery, but his tone was dispirited. The sailor slapped him on the shoulder as he walked by him.

“Davvie, lad, it will all come right. Sometimes you just have to wait a while for the right one to come along.” He did a ridiculous little sideways skip and added blithely, “Finally happened for me!”

“Right,” the lad said, and he sat down on the bench the sailor had just vacated. The new guard heaved a sigh, and his shoulders settled into a slump. He was not as heavily scaled as the others. Cobalt outlined his brows and went in a stripe down his nose. His Elderling cloak was scarlet, as were his boots. His tunic and close-fitting leggings were black. The weave was so fine it was imperceptible. Hest had never seen the like. This mere lad wore a fortune on his back. Did he know it? Would he part with any of it?

Hest studied him for a moment, and then he looked at the other new guard at the far door. There were two of them, actually, sitting on a bench together with the ease of long familiarity. Both were orange-scaled Elderlings, dressed all in gleaming black. One took a dice cup and dice from his pocket. The other one nodded. The game began.

Hest ventured closer to his morose jailer. “Nice day outside?”

Davvie looked at Hest suspiciously for a moment, and then responded. “Nice enough. Weather's changing. Lots of good news for us.”

Hest cocked his head at the young man and ventured a sympathetic smile. “You don't look as if the good news did much for you.”

“It's not going to help me with my problem,” he said. He looked away from Hest.

“Too bad.” Hest seated himself on the other end of the guard's bench. The boy turned and glared at him.
Yes, boy,
he decided, though it was hard to read age through his scaling.

“I know who you are.” He stated it flatly.

“Do you really?” This was intriguing.

“Yes. Carson and my dad were like brothers. He's raised me and talks straight to me. So I know who you are. And I don't think much of you.”

“Really. Why is that?”
Who is Carson?

“Sedric's been pretty honest with Carson. Well, not at first maybe, but now it's all in the open between them. I know you treated Sedric real bad. And he's happier now, living simple with Carson, than he ever was in your fancy house with your rich friends. He told me that.”

“Did he?” Hest turned away from the boy and looked at the floor. “There are two sides to every story,” he said huskily. He glanced up to find Davvie watching him intently and lowered his gaze again lest the boy read his eyes too well. “Two people can love each other and still hurt each other. Still make mistakes, big mistakes.” He shook his head slowly. “I know I can't win Sedric back. I see that perhaps he's better off here. That doesn't mean I have to be happy about going back alone. Doesn't mean it won't leave a big hole in my life.”

The scaled youngster was silent, full of listening. Hest shot him an earnest look. “You're lucky to be out here. I see how things are in this place. Oh, maybe it's a thin, bare life here, but you can love who you want, and no one shames you. I've never had that. Never. Maybe if Sedric and I had been able to be open with everyone around us, maybe . . .” He let his voice die away and shook his head regretfully. The boy leaned closer.
Such an easy target. Young and still inexperienced, his heart freshly broken.
Hest wanted to smile.
Could he take a better vengeance on Sedric and his damned Carson than seducing this boy?
He looked at Davvie with wounded eyes. “I tried to give him a good life with me, as much as I could manage. We traveled a great deal together. And when we were in town, there were many evenings with our friends. Fine wine, good food, wonderful fellowship.” He shook his head sadly. “I thought it would be enough for him. I shared with Sedric all I had, introduced him to a life he had never known. We would go to the theater together. Or go out riding. Or simply to a tavern to drink ale and listen to music. Every night we were together, experiencing all that a city has to offer young men.” He broke off to look at the boy more closely. “Have you ever been to Bingtown? Or any large city?”

Davvie shook his head. “Carson was teaching me to be a hunter and a trapper. Now that I got a dragon of my own, I'm a keeper. I wanted to be a keeper mostly so I could stay with Lecter. But now that he's thrown me over, and my dragon is all busy with other things, I've wound up with nothing.” He lifted a hand and touched his own cheek. “Don't think I'll ever visit Bingtown or any other city looking like I do. I'd be a freak there now.”

“A freak?” Hest laughed heartily. A few heads turned his way, and he quieted. Attention from anyone other than Davvie was not what he wanted. “No, my young friend. Not a freak. An Elderling. Rarest of the rare and honored wherever you might go. Why, everyone knows the names of Malta and Reyn Khuprus! They stayed for a time at the Satrap's court in Jamaillia and were honored with balls and feasts every day they were there. Showered with gifts and attention! I have no idea why they chose to go back to the Rain Wilds.”

“The dragons needed them,” the young man said, surprised that Hest didn't know such things.

“Ah, of course. They did. But your dragon, you say, does not? So are you not free to go where you will?” Hest pushed a hand through his dark hair, tousling it slightly. He tapped his fingertip on his lips, drawing the boy's eyes to his face. “You're a handsome fellow, and wealthy. You could travel to the city. Or anywhere. See more of the world. The right companion could show you off, teach you everything you'd need to know to fit in there. Introduce you to people who would appreciate you. After all, you can't mean to spend the whole of your life here, can you? You're much too young and too wealthy to settle in one spot.”

Davvie gave a snort of laughter. “Wealthy? Me? I've the clothes on my back. A knife. My own bow. Little enough beside that.”

Hest was astonished. “Young man, wealth is all around you here. Surely you are entitled to a share of it? There is so much in this city that, presented to the proper buyer, would bring you a fortune. I see others wearing Elderling jewelry; why do you not?” He touched the back of the boy's ringless hand, drew his finger slowly away. “I'll tell you this; a single Elderling bracelet would buy you a year of carousing in Bingtown. Easily.”

“I've never worn jewelry.”

Hest feigned astonishment. “Never? Ah, but you should! A sapphire ring to match the scaling on your hand. Or—” He lifted his hand and playfully tapped the boy's ear, and then spoke as Davvie drew back at his touch, Hest using the motion as a way to trace his jawline with his forefinger, “Dangling earrings. Silver. Or rich gold to draw the eye to your face.”

“I
feel drained,” Selden said, and he managed a feeble smile at his joke.

“This looks infected,” Chassim replied tartly, glaring at his swollen wrist. The Duke's teeth had broken his skin in the most recent session, and the flesh around it was hot and red.

Selden had not felt that bite as a separate pain. He'd lost consciousness early in the act and only recovered his awareness here in the tower room. Each time the Duke bled him, his stamina dropped. He did not look at his arm as she put a hot, wet cloth on it. A strong aroma of garlic rose from the poultice, and he turned his head to avoid it.

“Is it a pretty day out there?” he asked inanely. Chassim had opened the shutters, and a soft wind was blowing through the heavy curtains. Beyond their fluttering he glimpsed the stone balustrade of the balcony. Their new quarters were spacious and airy, with a wide view of the city and the surrounding countryside. Spring was coming, he thought and smiled weakly. Spring was coming and he was going.

“Nice enough. Do you want your curtains opened? It's clear but not very warm out there.”

“Please. What's the worst that can happen? I catch my death of cold?”

“The infection will kill you first,” she said bluntly.

“I know how bad it is,” he admitted. “It hurts, and the healers told your father that next time he must take blood from my other arm, lest the infection spread to him. I'm not looking forward to that.” His fingers twitched against his bedding as he thought of it. Bad enough to have the Duke break open the cut on his arm every few days. Adding another one was a whole new horror. “I'm dying,” he said, trying the words aloud. “His drinking my blood is killing me.”

“And every time he takes your blood, he seems to get stronger. He is so triumphant about it. It's disgusting.” She pushed the heavy curtains aside and tied them back. The sky was blue with puffs of white clouds in the distance. No mountains in this direction. The horizon stretched on to forever. The wind wandered into the room.

“Maybe when I die, he will start to fail again.”

“Maybe. I won't live to find out. If you die, then I die, too.” She came back to sit on a stool by his bed.

“I'm sorry.”

She made a strangled noise. “Scarcely your fault that my father is killing you. Nor mine. I was born into this disaster. I'm sorry that you fell into it.” She looked out of the window. “I've been thinking that if you die, I won't wait for him to discover it and punish me for it.” She nodded toward the balcony. “I may jump from there.”

“Sweet Sa!” Selden exclaimed in horror. He tried to sit up, but he was not quite strong enough.

“Not in despair, my friend. Just to make it harder for him to pretend I died a natural death. If I leap from here, it may be that some will see me fall. There are people who have pledged to avenge me if I die at my father's hands.”