by Robin Hobb
He watched Althea's face as she came aboard the ship. When she set hands to the rail, he saw how she suddenly glowed. Malta came to meet her and they immediately fell into conversation as they hurried inside. Amber seemed less affected by her first contact with the liveship. It was when she set eyes on Wintrow that her face went slack with shock. "The nine-fingered slave boy," she blurted out.
Wintrow lifted a hand swiftly to his cheek, then dropped it self-consciously. He gave Brashen an uneasy glance as Amber stared at him. It was only broken when Jek burst from the shadows to seize Amber in a fierce hug. "Aow, you look worse than I do!" she greeted her as Wintrow hastily turned away. Brashen felt mixed emotions as he trod the once-familiar deck. Kennit, he observed, had run a tight ship. The man had been a good captain. Then he shook his head, incredulous that such a thought could even come to him.
The chart room was crowded. Etta was there, as was Malta's Rain Wilder. Reyn seemed to be determined to be unaware of the attention he attracted. The Satrap was dramatically aware of his own importance. Two men, one broad and stocky, the other flamboyantly clad, would be the other pirate captains. The stocky man's eyes were reddened with weeping. His red-headed comrade wore a grave demeanor. They knew of Kennit's death, then.
The captured Jamaillian nobles lined the walls, a bedraggled and weary group. Several looked on the verge of collapse. Wintrow shut the door behind him and gave them a moment to discard wet cloaks. He gestured to seats around the crowded table, while he remained standing. The heavyset pirate captain was pouring brandy for all of them. Brashen was glad of the warming stuff. He recognized the snifter. Ephron Vestrit had reserved it for special occasions. Althea hastened to a seat beside him. She leaned close to him and whispered hurriedly, "The best of news! When Reyn and the dragon left Bingtown, my mother and Keffria and Selden were all there and in good health." She took a breath. "I fear that is the only good news, however. My family is beggared, my home a vandalized shell, our holdings sacked. Now more than ever, a liveship would… I'll tell you later," she amended hastily as she realized all other conversation at the table had ceased. All turned to Wintrow at the head of the table.
Wintrow drew a breath and spoke decisively. "I know none of you are easy at being called away from your ships. It was necessary. Kennit's death has forced a number of decisions on us. I'm going to tell you what I've decided, and let each of you plot your course accordingly."
There it was, Brashen thought: the assumption of command and authority was in his voice. He half expected someone to challenge it, but all were silent. The other pirate captains had already deferred to him. Everyone waited respectfully. Only the Satrap's satisfied smile let everyone know he already knew what was to come.
Wintrow took a breath. "The treaty, so painstakingly hammered out by King Kennit of the Pirate Isles and the Lord High Magnadon Satrap Cosgo of Jamaillia has been acknowledged and approved by these nobles."
A shocked silence followed these words. Then both Captain Red and Sorcor leapt to their feet with cries of triumph. Etta lifted her eyes to Wintrow's face. "You've done it?" she asked in wonder. "You've finished what he promised us?"
"I've made a start on it," Wintrow replied grimly. "My sister Malta has been instrumental in persuading them to this wise action. But there remains much to do."
At a look from him, his two captains resumed their seats. Sorcor's deep voice broke the silence. There was fierce satisfaction in his voice. "When you told me Kennit was dead, I thought our dreams had died with him. I should have had more faith, Wintrow. Kennit chose well in you."
Wintrow's voice was grave, but the hint of a smile played on his face as he spoke on. "We know these waters well. We've left the Jamaillian fleet behind us in the dark. I recommend that as soon as Sorcor and Red return to their vessels, they separate and loop back through the islands and return to Divvytown. Send birds to command a massing of the pirate fleet. Then lie quiet there for a time until the other ships arrive."
"And you, sir?" Sorcor asked.
"I'll be going with you, Sorcor, on the Marietta. Also Etta and the Lord High Magnadon Satrap Cosgo. As well as our captives… noble guests," he amended smoothly. He raised his voice to forestall questions. "The Satrap requires our protection and support. We will mass our fleet at Divvytown. Then we will undertake to return him to Jamaillia City, where he can present to the rest of his nobles the endorsed treaty that allies him with the Kingdom of the Pirate Isles. Our guests shall remain well cared for in Divvytown until our claims are recognized. Now, Etta He paused, then plunged on, "Queen Etta, chosen by Kennit to sail beside him, and the mother of his unborn son, will go with us to see that the claims of the Pirate Isles are recognized. She will reign for her child until he comes of age."
"A child? You carry his child?" Sorcor jumped to his feet, then lunged to engulf Etta in a hug. Tears ran unabashedly down his face. "No more sword-play until after the baby's born, now," he cautioned her, holding her at arm's length, then looked offended when Red laughed aloud. Etta looked shaken, and then amazed. Even when Sorcor resumed a seat, he kept his big hand upon Etta's wrist as if to keep her close and safe.
"Kennit left us a son," Wintrow confirmed when the hubbub had died down. His eyes met Etta's as he spoke. "An heir to reign after him, when he has come of age. But until then, it is up to us to carry out Kennit's ideas and keep his word."
Brashen felt Althea's muscles tighten every time the pirate's name was spoken. Her eyes were black as she stared at her nephew. Under the table, Brashen's hand sought hers. She gripped it hard.
The Satrap suddenly surged to his feet. "I will keep my word," he announced as if it were a surprising gift to them. "These last few days, I have seen for myself why the Pirate Isles has the right to rule its own. I must count on your support to regain my own throne, but once I am returned to Jamaillia City—"
"Hey. What about Vivacia? Why is everyone coming on the Marietta?" Sorcor seemed unaware that he had interrupted the Lord High Magnadon Satrap of all Jamaillia. Wintrow took control back easily.
"Vivacia goes to keep one of Kennit's other promises. We all are indebted to the serpents. They have gone north, following the dragon. But Vivacia insists that they will need her help to make the journey. She feels she must follow them. Moreover, Kennit had promised this to her." He paused, and then spoke with obvious difficulty. "I cannot go with her. I long to, for I long to see my family again. But my duty is here, for a time longer." He fixed his eyes, finally, on Althea. "I ask Althea Vestrit to take Vivacia north. Jola has spoken for the crew. They'll follow her, as that was Captain Kennit's will. However, I caution you, Althea. Vivacia promised Kennit that when her service to the serpents was over, she would return. And that, too, is what the ship wishes to do. Guide the serpents home. Take news of us to Bingtown. But after that, you both must return to us."
Wintrow held up a hand as Althea began to speak, and for a wonder she heeded it and kept silent. His gaze swung to meet Brashen's. Brashen stared at him numbly. He'd suspected it was coming, but the reality still stunned him. Wintrow had just taken Althea away from him. Once more, duty to her family and her ship claimed her. She would have her dream: she would captain Vivacia, she would sail victorious into Bingtown. Afterward, she must return Vivacia to Divvytown. Would she then leave her ship to come back to him? He doubted it. He held her hand tightly, but knew she was already gone. It was hard for him to focus on Wintrow's next words.
"You and Paragon are free to do as you wish, Brashen Trell. But I ask that Paragon accompany Vivacia to the Rain Wild River with the serpents. Vivacia says that two liveships will guide and protect better than one. Malta and Reyn will undoubtedly wish to make that journey also."
Reyn spoke, surprising them all. "We will need two ships against all the Chalcedeans headed this way. One to guard, one to fight."
"We had heard rumors," Wintrow acknowledged in dismay. "But only rumors."
"Believe them," Reyn said. He turned in his chair to address the Jamaillian n
obles who lined the walls. His copper eyes walked over them. "As Tintaglia and I flew south, we saw Chalcedean ships accompanied by galleys.
That, as you know, is their configuration for serious warfare. I suspect Jamaillia City is their target. I believe they have decided that the little plunder left in Bingtown is not worth fighting a dragon for."
Malta's words followed Reyn's. "I see in your faces that you doubt us. But I saw their first attack on Bingtown. Reyn was present during their last one. Your Chalcedean conspirators saw no reason to wait for you. They expected to claim the cream of the plunder before you arrived. Nor do I think they ever intended to turn Bingtown over to your New Trader sons and brothers. Cheated of the easy prey you promised them in Bingtown, driven away by Tintaglia, they now come south. Those are the allies you chose. Your Satrap has been wiser. You have signed the treaty under duress. I can read your hearts. Given the chance, you will retract your agreement. That would be foolish. You should speed your Satrap's alliance with the Pirate Isles, for when the Chalcedean ships and their raiding galleys arrive, you will need every friend you can call upon." Her eyes raked them. "Mark my words. They are without mercy."
A scant year ago, Malta had turned her wiles on Brashen. In her words, he heard her girlish cunning matured into genuine diplomacy. Some of the nobles exchanged looks, impressed with her words. Even the Satrap seemed pleased with her, nodding to her words as if she but spoke aloud his own thoughts.
Malta clapped her hands to her ears before Reyn heard the sound. When it broke into his hearing range, he flinched with her. The others looked about wildly, while one Jamaillian lord wailed, "The serpents return!"
"No. It's Tintaglia," Reyn replied. Anxiety clutched him. The dragon cried for help as she came. He moved toward the door, and everyone else at the table rose and followed him. Malta seized his hand as they emerged onto the deck. Together, they stared up into the downpour. Tintaglia swept over them, a pale gleaming of silver and blue against the overcast night sky. Her wings beat heavily. She swung in a wide circle, then gave cry again. To Reyn's amazement, her call was answered. The ship's deck hummed with the force of Vivacia's reply. A deeper call from Paragon echoed hers.
Malta was frozen, looking up in awe. An instant after the sound died, she met Reyn's eyes with a question. "She asks for help?"
Reyn snorted. "No. She demands our help. Tintaglia seldom 'asks' for anything." His heart sank despite his callous words. They had grown too close for her to conceal her fear from him. He felt both her weariness and the deep grief in her soul.
"I did not understand all of it." Malta added, "I am shocked that I understood any of it."
Reyn replied in a low voice, "The longer you are around her, the more clear it comes to your mind. I think our ears have little to do with it." The dragon's vocalizations shook the skies again. All around them, sailors either craned to look at the beast or cowered under shelter. Reyn stared up, heedless of the rain that pelted his face. He spoke loud to be heard through the answering cries of the ships.
"The dragon is exhausted. She flies too swiftly for the serpents to keep up with her. She has had to constantly circle to match her pace to theirs. She has not hunted or fed, for she has feared to leave her serpents. When they encountered a Chalcedean ship, it attacked her. She was not injured badly but the serpents rose against the ship." He took a breath. "They knew how to kill serpents. Archers killed six of the tangle before they sank the ship." The outrage and sorrow of the liveship rose through them. "The tangle rests for the night, but she has returned to ask our aid." He turned beseechingly to the captains. "Darkness caught her on the wing. She needs a sandy beach to land on — or any beach, with a fire to guide her in."
Sorcor spoke suddenly. "Would muck do? It's slippery, but softer than rock."
"Stink Island," Etta confirmed.
"It's not far," Red added. "She probably flies over it each time she circles. Bad place for a ship, though. Shallow water."
"But you can run a boat up on it." Etta dismissed this problem. "And there's lots of driftwood there for a fire."
"We need to get there. Now." Reyn glanced up anxiously at the sky. "If we do not hurry, the ocean will claim her. She is at the end of her strength."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A Dragon's Will
The wet driftwood would not kindle. While Reyn struggled with tinder that the wind kept claiming, Malta took off her cloak and stuffed it into the tangle of wood. He looked up to the sudden crash as she smashed their lantern onto the pile. A moment later, flames licked up the edges of her cloak. He feared the fire would die there, but after a few moments, he heard the welcome crackling of wood igniting. By then, Malta had come to the shelter of his cloak. When her brother gave them an odd look, she lifted her chin and stared him down defiantly. She pressed her wet and shivering body firmly against Reyn's. In the sheltering darkness, he held her, smelling the fragrance of her hair. Boldly he kissed the top of her head. The fine scaling of her crest rasped his cheek, and Malta gave an involuntary shiver. He felt her body flush suddenly with warmth. She looked up at him, surprise intensifying the pale gleam of her Rain Wild eyes.
"Reyn," she gasped, caught between delight and scandal. "You should not do that," she chided primly.
"Are you sure?" he asked by her ear.
"Not when my brother is watching," she amended breathlessly.
The bonfire was burning well now. Reyn lifted anxious eyes to the sky. He had not heard Tintaglia pass overhead for some time, but her anxiety hung strong and infected him. She was still up there, somewhere. He glanced around at the people who had come to the beach with them. Stink Island lived up to its name. All were muck to the knee, and Red, much to his disgust, had fallen in the stuff and was probably regretting his desire to see a dragon up close.
A second bonfire was kindled from the first. Out on the water, the ships suddenly cried out and the dragon replied from a distance. Reyn sounded the warning: "Get out of her way!"
Tintaglia came down in a heavy battering of wings, fighting both the rain and the gusting wind. Unencumbered by a human burden, she would land gracefully, Reyn expected. But as Sorcor had predicted, the muck was slippery. The dragon's braced feet slid and mud flew up from her wildly lashing tail and flapping wings. She skittered to a halt nearly in the bonfire. Tintaglia's eyes flashed angrily over her compromised dignity. She quivered her dripping wings, spattering more mud on the humans.
"What idiot chose this beach?" she demanded furiously. In the next breath, she demanded, "Is there no food ready?"
She complained her way through two hogsheads of salt pork. "Nasty, sticky stuff, too small to bite properly," she proclaimed at the end of her meal, and stalked off to a nearby spring.
"She's immense," Sorcor exclaimed in wonder.
Reyn realized he had become accustomed to her magnificence. Malta had her memories from the dream-box, but this was the first opportunity for the others to see a dragon other than on the wing.
"She is full of beauty, in form and movement," Amber whispered. "I see now what Paragon meant. Only a trueborn dragon is a real dragon. All others are but clumsy imitations."
Jek gave Amber a disdainful glance. "Six Duchies dragons suited me just fine. Would have been fine by you, too, if you'd lived with the fear of being Forged. But," she admitted grudgingly, "she is astounding." Reyn turned aside from their incomprehensible conversation.
"I wonder what Vivacia would have looked like," Althea said quietly. Firelight danced in her eyes as she stared at the dragon's shadowy shape.
"Or Paragon's dragons," Brashen inserted loyally.
Reyn felt a grating of guilt at their words. His family had transformed dragons to ships. Would there some day be an accounting for that? He pushed the thought away.
When Tintaglia came stalking back from the spring, she had cleaned much of the muck from her wings and belly. She gave Reyn a baleful look from her spinning silver eyes. "I said, 'sand'," she rebuked him. She swung her great head to
regard the gathered humans. "Good," she acknowledged them. Smoothly she shifted from complaining to demanding. "You will have to build another fire, farther from the waves, where the muck turns to rock. Stone does not make the best of beds, but it is preferable to mud, and I must rest tonight." Then she caught sight of Malta. Her eyes spun more swiftly, gleaming like full moons.
"Step out into the light, little sister. Let me see you."
Reyn feared Malta would offend the dragon by hesitating, but she came boldly to stand before her. Tintaglia's eyes traveled over her from crest to feet. In a warm voice, she announced, "I see you have been well rewarded for your part in freeing me, young Queen. A scarlet crest. You will take much pleasure from that." At Malta's puzzled blush, the dragon chuckled warmly. "What, not even discovered it yet? You will. And you will enjoy a long life in which to relish it."
She swung her gaze to Reyn. "You chose well. She is fit to be an Elderling Queen, and a speaker for dragons. Selden will be delighted that she has changed as well. He has been a bit worried, you know, that she would disparage his changes."
Reyn smiled awkwardly. He had not yet apprised the Vestrits of Selden's changes. Tintaglia distracted them from their exchange of puzzled glances.
"I will sleep the night, and require more food before I fly in the morning. The tangle rests well north of here. For the night, at least, they are safe." She blinked her great eyes and the silver whirled coldly. "I have done away with those who dared to threaten them. But my serpents are wearied. Serpents, even in prime condition, cannot keep pace with a dragon a-wing. In the days of old, there would have been several of us to shepherd them along, and several serpents with the memory to guide them. They have only me, and one serpent guide."
