Dragonsblood

by Todd McCaffrey

  “I’m sorry,” Lorana whimpered, tears starting in her eyes, “I tried—”

  “Are you all right?” Captain Tanner shouted from above them.

  “That’s what you get for having a woman aboard,” Baror added in a bellow of his own.

  “Rogue wave!” Colfet called back, rolling his eyes at Baror’s complaint. “Lorana didn’t get the timing right.”

  He looked across at Lorana, licked his lips, and shouted, “She’ll get it this time, I’m sure.”

  Lorana nodded fervently, “I will, I’m sorry, Colfet—”

  “No need to apologize,” Colfet said a bit brusquely. “Just do it right this time.” The old seaman licked his lips.

  Lorana bent her head over her work. Colfet studied her closely in the silence.

  “There,” Lorana said, deftly finishing the binding. “How’s that?”

  Colfet inspected the splints bound around his forearm. “Feels right.” His face brightened. “You did good work, lass. You’ve the makings of a good healer.”

  “Now, how about some wine with a bit of fellis juice to ease the pain?” Lorana asked, rising from the table to pull a flask from the locker.

  Colfet’s face brightened at the thought of getting drunk for a good reason, but then shook his head. “You’re a good lass, but the captain might need a hand, and we’ll be in that new sea hold before nightfall. I can wait until then.”

  The old seaman’s face grew thoughtful. He shifted his arm carefully.

  “With this, I’ll have to let Baror take first mate,” he told her. “He’ll be captain when Wind Rider finishes this cruise.”

  He pursed his lips, frowning. “You might not want to stay aboard, then.”

  “But I was hoping—”

  “Baror doesn’t like women,” Colfet interrupted. “You know that.” He paused and leaned in closer to her. “He doesn’t like dragonmen much, either. And for the same reason.”

  Lorana looked intrigued.

  “His first wife ran off with a dragonman,” Colfet told her. “I can’t say as I’d blame her—he was never much to look at, and his idea of romance would bore a fish.”

  Lorana made to comment, but Colfet held up his good hand to forestall her.

  “I suppose he might have changed his mind,” Colfet went on, “if only his second wife hadn’t died in the Plague. He blamed the dragonriders for not helping soon enough.”

  “Oh!”

  Colfet nodded. “He found a third wife, but she hounds him unmercifully. I think that’s why he was so happy to go on this voyage. Still, he’s no reason to think kindly of women or dragonmen.”

  “Well . . .”

  “You’ve nothing to worry about as long as Captain Tanner’s aboard,” Colfet assured her. “And maybe we can sort Baror out afterward.”

  Lorana couldn’t think of what to say.

  “Land ho!” The cry from above deck interrupted her thoughts.

  “We’ll be in port before noon, I expect,” Colfet said.

  Lorana nodded. “You should get the hold healer to look at that.”

  Colfet started to say something, pursed his lips in thought, and nodded. “You’re right,” he said, adding with a grin, “but I doubt there’ll be any complaints!”

  As Wind Rider neared the coastline, she passed a number of trawlers on their way back to the new sea hold from their day’s work. The trawlers all reacted in the same way: At first they turned toward Wind Rider, then they tried to match her course, and then they fell behind as the sloop’s sails sent her swiftly through the waves.

  The ship’s crew grew more and more amused with each unsuccessful attempt at interception until finally even Colfet had a grin on his face and ruefully admitted, “I reckon she’s faster than anything my Master has ever seen.”

  As the coastline drew nearer, however, the northern crew began to grumble about Captain Tanner’s navigation.

  “I heard it said that there’s fickle winds out here,” Baror said as he cast a suspicious look at the captain. “If one’s not careful, a ship could get dashed on the coastline before she makes port.”

  Tanner ignored Baror’s outburst and the others it inspired, contenting himself with a confirming glance at the binnacle. “We’ll make the sea hold in the next half an hour,” he said aloud for everyone to hear.

  As the half hour crept to its end, with the sun just past its midday height, even Lorana was worried about their course.

  “There’s a huge cliff up ahead,” the lookout shouted. “We’ll hit it in—I don’t believe it! There’s a great big hole in the middle of it!”

  “That’s the port,” Captain Tanner said, suddenly calling out orders to reduce sail and adjusting his course just slightly as the “big hole” came into view from the deck. He spared a glance at Baror, telling him, “Prepare to launch the skiff.” To the crew forward he shouted, “Prepare to make anchor!”

  Five minutes later Wind Rider was riding at anchor in the huge bay. To port they could see the great cavern that had been carved out of the coastline, while to starboard they could see miners and others laboring to carve a new Hold out of the cliff face set just behind a pebbly shore. Lorana, Tanner, Baror, and Colfet were all eyes as the skiff sailed jauntily to the shore.

  “Nothing like this at Tillek,” Baror said when he found his voice.

  “Nor Ista,” Captain Tanner agreed. “It’ll be safe from all but the worst winds—and that dock!”

  A tall, thin man met them as they reached the shore. “I’m Trinar,” he said shortly, “Dockmaster here. That your ship?”

  “It is,” Captain Tanner replied. “She’s the Wind Rider, commissioned for the Masterfisher at Tillek and on trials from Ista Sea Hold.”

  Trinar was impressed. “I heard about it. She looks very pretty, very fast. Much room for fish?”

  Colfet snickered. “She’s built for fast runs of valuable cargo, not fish.”

  Trinar looked less impressed. “Well, if you want to stay the night, you’ll have to unstep her topmasts and bring her to dock here in the cavern.”

  “That won’t be necessary—we’ll be leaving with the evening tide,” Tanner replied.

  “Very well then, I’ll get someone to moor your skiff. See me when you’re ready to depart,” Trinar answered. “The mooring fee is two marks.”

  “Two marks!” Colfet hissed. “Didn’t you hear the man say this is the Masterfisher’s ship?”

  “It’s still two marks,” Trinar said. He waved his hand and two burly seaman approached. “Jalor will take your skiff out, and Marset will show you up to the hold.”

  Tanner held up his hand in an arresting gesture. “How much to put an anchor watch on Wind Rider?”

  Trinar pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Reckon we could do that for four marks.”

  “Very well,” Tanner said, passing over the marks. He turned to the skiff’s crew. “This is the Dockmaster, Trinar. He’s going to supply an anchor watch for the ship. You go back, work it out with the others, and you can all come ashore until the evening tide—how’s that sound?”

  Baror tapped Tanner’s shoulder. In a hoarse whisper, the grumpy seaman asked, “What’s to stop them from taking her?”

  “She’s one of a kind, where would they take her?” Tanner replied. “Besides, she’s not your Master’s ship yet. Until we’ve completed the trials, if anything happens to her it’ll be on my head.”

  Baror grunted acknowledgment, still looking doubtful. Tanner turned to Marset. “We’d be glad to see your new hold.”

  “I’d like to see a nice glass of cold wine,” Baror muttered.

  Lorana spoke up for the first time. “And Colfet needs to see your hold healer.”

  Tanner looked chagrined. “To the healer first, then we’ll see.”

  Healer Bordan was a short, elderly man with thick, bushy eyebrows and long white hair worn in a queue. He sniffed the cast carefully for any signs of infection, checked the bindings, spoke curtly to Lorana about the break, and fina
lly pronounced himself well satisfied with the current cast.

  “You were wise not to try a solid cast,” Bordan told her.

  “We didn’t have the supplies to make it,” Lorana replied. “But wouldn’t it have been better?”

  Bordan nodded. “Yes, a solid cast keeps the bones in place better, but on the sea where everything gets wet, you’d soon have nothing more than a mass of soggy wrappings. No, a well-wrapped set of splints will do fine.” He gave Lorana a searching look. “Ever thought of turning healer?”

  Lorana was stunned at the implied compliment and confused as she tried to construct an answer. Tanner saved her. “I’d say that Lorana has her work cut out with her drawings.”

  Bordan’s bushy eyebrows rose to greater heights. “You draw, as well? Have you ever considered drawing for the Healer Hall? Have you a good eye?”

  “Her drawings look so real, I’m afraid of falling into them,” Colfet told him.

  “Well, if you ever think so, I’ll be happy to write the Masterhealer,” Bordan said.

  Lorana’s eyes widened in delight. “Thank you! Thank you very much, Healer Bordan.”

  “Hmmph,” Colfet grumbled. “Didn’t I tell you there was no need to see the healer? But I’m parched, from all that poking about—begging your pardon, Healer Bordan.”

  Bordan snorted, smiling. “We’ve got some good Benden wine down in the cellars that would probably do wonders for your pains.” He raised a cautioning finger. “But, mind you, drink enough water with it or your bones will feel it when the wine dries them out!”

  The entire hold smelled of stone dust, a dry acrid smell. The Main Hall was large enough, but there were few in it, as even here the sound of miners carving out stone could be heard ringing through the air.

  “You’re off that foreign ship, is it?” a sturdily built woman asked as they entered. “Here for some wine and a bit of food, I’d imagine?”

  “If we could, please,” Lorana asked.

  Lorana’s politeness startled the woman, who reappraised the group. “Well, you’d probably be as bothered as the rest of us with all that hammering,” she said and leaned closer to them. In a whisper she added, “Most of the lads are out in the valley where the noise is less. You’ll find food and wine out there, too. It’s a bit like a Gather.”

  The walk from the new hold to the valley inland was not long, but Lorana found the going difficult.

  “You’ve still got your sea legs,” Tanner informed her. “You’ll be a bit wobbly for the rest of the day, probably.”

  Colfet looked at the sun and frowned. “Won’t be much of that left, soon.” He asked Tanner, “When did you plan to head out?”

  Tanner considered the question and looked at the sky. “The offshore breeze won’t start until after sundown,” he replied. He held up a hand to forestall Colfet’s protest. “I know it will be a rough night, but the winds in Nerat Bay can be fickle, particularly near the shore, and I’d rather get away while we can.”

  “You want to ride a storm out of here?” Baror asked in shock.

  Tanner nodded. “After the storm there’ll be days of windless dead calm and thick morning fogs,” he told the northern sailors. “I don’t want us caught in either.”

  Colfet considered what Tanner had said for a moment and nodded firmly. “Don’t get much windlessness up north, but we know all about fog.”

  Baror shuddered. “I couldn’t stand being stuck in the same place for days on end, praying for a wind.”

  Tanner nodded in agreement. “Then let’s be off, get our Gather, and get gone with the night airs!”

  “There it is, Talith!” J’trel called as they burst into the afternoon sunshine at the new sea hold. “Look down there, see it? That must be their Dock Cavern, and you can see all the tents—practically a Gather—of the people waiting to move in the new Hold. And—look!—there’s the Wind Rider!”

  J’trel asked his dragon to bank sharply to the right on their way down, craning his head over the dragon’s neck to get a better view of the hold. In his earlier conversation with Captain Tanner, he’d heard a lot about the new sea hold—it was all any of the seafolk would talk about—and some of what he’d heard had disturbed him.

  Oh, he was sure that the Benden Weyrleader must have been told that Nerat was settling a new hold, and from what he’d heard about M’tal, he knew that Weyrleader would insist on all the proper procedures being followed in building and founding the new Hold. But—where were the shutters for the windows? And didn’t that main hold door look a bit too wide? What if the wind blew Thread up against the hold doors and someone opened them too early? J’trel shuddered at the thought.

  “Talith, put me down on the sand, please,” J’trel requested. Talith, who had heard more of J’trel’s ruminations than the old dragonrider realized, rumbled in agreement and turned toward the widest part of the shore. “I want to see this hold and talk with its holder before I find Lorana.”

  At the hold entrance, J’trel was nearly bowled over by a group of lads trudging through with wheelbarrows full of chipped rock.

  “Out of my way, you old git!” the first one yelled as he swerved to dodge J’trel.

  The second one, following, went wide-eyed as he recognized J’trel’s distinctive garb. “Genin, you fool! That was a dragonrider!”

  Genin spared a backward glance at the dragonrider and said loudly, “So? He’s too old to do any useful work—probably doesn’t even know how!”

  Talith bugled angrily from the shore and Genin jumped, tripped over his feet, and toppled his wheelbarrow over. His face turned livid with rage as he sprang up, shouting at J’trel, “This is all your fault, old man! Why don’t you go back to your Weyr?”

  J’trel stopped and turned back angrily. He sized up Genin as he approached. The lad was burly and muscled from years working nets and hauling sail; cropped blond hair topped a beefy face with eyes set with the look of a bully.

  As Genin rushed at the dragonrider, his companion dropped his wheelbarrow and grated, “Genin, no! He’s a dragonrider!”

  “Stay out of it, Vilo!” Genin said, his voice rising as he threw himself at J’trel—

  Who wasn’t there. The bully fell with a jarring thud onto the hard stone as his lunge for the dragonrider met empty air.

  With a tight grin, J’trel noted that the oaf had winded himself. In other circumstances, J’trel would have left matters at that, but a crowd was gathering. The dragonrider felt the heat of anger burning within him—and an echo from Talith at the shore.

  Rough hands parted a way through the crowd and a dark-haired man appeared. “Hold! Enough of this—oh, dragonrider! I didn’t know! I—”

  “I will settle with this one,” J’trel said, his words harsher and thicker than he had intended. The dark-haired man’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest. J’trel, hands raised in readiness, turned his attention back to the winded bully.

  “Everyone stand back, give them room!” the dark-haired man shouted at the crowd, which obediently drew back.

  What are you doing? Talith asked. You are not young anymore. J’trel could hear the dragon’s wings as Talith launched himself into the air.

  This is a question of honor, J’trel said. Thread comes soon. Holders must respect dragonriders. Talith accepted the answer reluctantly, taking station and circling watchfully high above the crowd.

  The distractions had given Genin time to recover. Just as J’trel turned back to deal with him, Genin threw himself at the dragonrider.

  Genin had heard enough as he was recovering to realize that he would be outcast from the Hold. Always quicker to anger than to thought, the bully roused himself to revenge. He grappled the dragonrider at the waist, intending to snap the old man’s spine.

  The shock of the assault took J’trel off his feet. He fell back under the weight of his attacker. Agony ran along nerves from his waist. With a shock, echoed high above by his bugling dragon, J’trel realized that the tough was planning to kill him.
As Genin dragged him up in a bear hug, J’trel grabbed his head in either hand and dug his thumbs into the holder’s eyes.

  Genin dropped J’trel with a shriek, his hands covering his eyes. J’trel took a sharp ragged breath, stepped back and shot a brutal kick to Genin’s groin with his right foot. The impact staggered the holder. Landing on the foot he had kicked with, J’trel followed immediately with another kick to the chest. Pain lanced up the dragonrider’s foot as the blow jarred through his body. Genin collapsed facedown into an inert lump.

  Even though both his waist and foot hurt him abominably, even though he was sorely winded and dearly wanted nothing more than to sprawl on the ground gasping for air, J’trel forced himself to take one deep calming breath, stand squarely, and look commandingly for the dark-haired man.

  “I am J’trel, rider of Talith,” he said, turning slowly to catch the eyes of everyone in the crowd. “I request the courtesy of this Hold.”

  “I am Rinir, my lord,” the dark-haired man said instantly, bowing. He frowned at Genin, and continued nervously, “I assure you—”

  J’trel cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I am looking for someone off that ship. Where is the crew?”

  “I met them earlier, my lord,” a woman said, coming forward to stand next to Rinir. “They’ve gone over to the tents.”

  J’trel glanced skyward and ignored the crowd as Talith responded to his silent request. The crowd followed his glance and ran out of the dragon’s way as Talith landed daintily beside his dragonrider. With a final, curt nod to Rinir, J’trel mounted and signaled Talith to take them to the meadow.

  You’re hurt! Talith complained. You need numbweed and fellis. Let me take you back to the Weyr.

  No. I promised Lorana that I’d see her, J’trel replied. If I go now, I don’t know when I’ll be able to return.

  Talith rumbled anxiously but flew on to the meadow.

  “It’s not right for a woman to be aboard a ship,” Baror grumbled into his cup. He and Minet sat under an awning at the crowded vintner’s tent.