by Hobb, Robin
“Three.” The woman at the corner of the galley table had been sitting so quietly that Leftrin had almost forgotten she was there. She was veiled, not unusual in the Rain Wilds, but not so common in Cassarick as it was in Trehaug. Now she lifted her veil and revealed her touched features, a signal of trust and acceptance. “I’m going with you. My name is Tillamon Khuprus. I’m Reyn’s sister.”
“Tillamon,” Leftrin acknowledged her with an abbreviated bow.
“Going with us?” Reyn was astounded. “But . . . Tillamon, you need to think about this. Mother will be worried sick if we all disappear. I had thought I would send you back with word of all that has happened. And that perhaps you could be the one to accompany Captain Leftrin with a letter of credit from the Khuprus family, to be sure it was honored at the . . .” His words died away slowly. She had begun shaking her head, and with every phrase he uttered, the motion only become more emphatic.
“No, Reyn. I’m not going back to Trehaug. I hadn’t planned to, anyway. I’d thought that I’d find more freedom here in Cassarick. But I was wrong. Not even in the Rain Wilds can I avoid the stares and the comments from strangers. I know that mother thought she was doing good when she invited the Tattooed to come here and live among us and become part of our community. But they’ve brought outside intolerance with them! We’re told to care nothing that they were slaves, many of them criminals, and all of them marked as chattel. But they feel free to mock me and stare at me and make me a stranger in my own land.”
“Not all of them are like that,” Reyn pointed out wearily.
Tillamon rounded on him. “You know something, Reyn? I don’t care. I don’t care what percentage of them are good people. I don’t care how many of them were unjustly enslaved, or how much anguish some of them feel over their tattooed faces. What I care about is that I had a life before they came here. And now I don’t feel like I do anymore. So I’m leaving. I’m going to Kelsingra, where there are no outsiders. I’ll help you in any way I can tomorrow; I’ll hire a small boat to make a very quick round trip to Trehaug, or I’ll send messages by bird. I’ll back up the family letter of credit with the merchants to see that we get what we need. I’ll say I’m the one investing in a new expedition and that my contract with Captain Leftrin is confidential. However I can help, I will. But you won’t leave me here in Cassarick. I’m going to Kelsingra.”
“Have things really become that bad in Trehaug?” Hennesey asked quietly.
“Not all—” Reyn began, but “Yes!” His sister cut him off with a word. She met Hennesey’s gaze squarely as if challenging him to meet her eyes. “If you are only lightly marked, little is said. But those of us who are heavily changed hear the comments and feel the shunning. As if we were dirty or contagious! As if we were disgusting. I can’t live like that. Not any longer.” She swung her gaze to Captain Leftrin. “You said you have a small colony up there? Well, if you want to gain new citizens for it, you will have no trouble at all populating it if you let it be known that Kelsingra will be a city where those changed by the Rain Wilds can live in peace.”
“More than peace,” Hennesey observed. He grinned and looked directly at her. “When you see the keepers, you’ll know what I mean. Their changes are just as far along as any Elderling’s. That’s what they say they are becoming. More Elderlings.” He pushed his sleeve up to reveal the extent of the scaling on his arms. “Not just the keepers. All of us changed more as we spent time among the dragons.”
“More Elderlings?” Reyn looked stunned.
“An Elderling colony? A place where to be changed is normal?” Tillamon’s eyes lit with hope.
Leftrin looked around the galley. Abruptly, he was exhausted. “I’m going to bed,” he announced. “I need my sleep. And I suggest that you all get some rest while you can. If you can’t sleep”—and here he glanced at Reyn and Tillamon—“then I suggest you get done what paperwork we might need to buy our supplies or send messages to family. Hennesey, give some thought to what you’ll need to rig a better shelter on the foredeck. Skelly, show Reyn and Tillamon to the little deck cabins we made for Alise and Sedric. They’re mostly empty now. They can use them for our trip upriver.” He yawned suddenly, surprising himself. His last order was for Swarge.
“Set a watch on our deck and on the dock. I don’t want any visitors taking us by surprise.”
As Leftrin walked toward his cabin, he wondered what he had got himself into. And if there was even a chance of his own involvement with Arich remaining unknown.
Cold woke Alise before dawn. She got up and built up the fire and then sat close to it rather than go back to her empty bed. Empty bed. Now there was an idea. In all her years of marriage to Hest, she’d never missed him in her bed, save for that one fateful wedding night that he had largely failed to attend. But Leftrin, whom she had loved for less than a year, him she missed. His absence made her bed empty even when she was in it. She missed the warmth of his bulky body, she missed his gentle breathing. If ever she woke in the night and touched him, he always responded by awakening enough to gather her into his arms and hold her close.
And sometimes closer. She recalled that part with lust, and her body responded with a pang more poignant than any hunger pain she had ever felt. She wanted that back, as soon as possible. Sex with Hest had never been good; with Leftrin, it had never been bad.
She pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders and huddled closer to the fire. Then she gave in and rose to go to her makeshift drying rack. Her Elderling gown was there, just as lovely as when Leftrin had first given it to her. She had washed it last night, not because it showed any dirt, but because it was something she did every week. Now as she poked her head out of the neck hole, it slid down and over her body, contouring to it and enveloping her in comfort. Very quickly it trapped the warmth of her body and returned it to her. She sighed with relief and momentarily grumbled to herself that it did not cover her feet as well. Ingrate, she chided herself. She was fortunate to have such a wonderful garment. She tried not to wear it when doing heavy or dirty work. Even though it had never torn despite all she had put it through, she did not want to take risks with it.
There was smoked fish for breakfast. Again. She was so tired of it. She fantasized about toast and eggs, a bit of jam and a pot of real tea. Such simple things to long for! Leftrin would do the best he could with bringing back supplies, but there was no predicting when he would return. He had assured her that the trip downriver would go much more swiftly than the one upriver had gone since the ship now knew the way to Kelsingra. But she did not discount all that Tarman might experience on his journey and refused to count the days. Every morning she wondered if this would be the day her captain returned, and every morning she resolved to busy herself and not think about the event until it happened.
Well, today that would not be a challenge! She filled a pot with water, to brew a tea made from local herbs. It was palatable, and a hot drink in the morning was welcome, but it wasn’t “tea” as she desired it. A small slab of smoked fish accompanied it. There was the benefit, she supposed, that there was no lingering over meals anymore. There wasn’t enough of a meal to linger over!
Breakfast finished, she splashed her face and hands, wrapped her feet and put her holey boots on, then slung her worn cloak around her shoulders before stepping outside. The night storm had blown and rained itself out. Thin sunshine sparkled on the wet grasses of the hillside. She looked over and beyond it, across the wide river to the distant city.
She could not tell, at this distance, if lights still burned in any of the windows. The coming of night would tell her that. But she suspected the phenomenon would be short-lived. The Elderling magic seemed to have lingered for many decades, but most often it exhausted itself with a final brief display of wonder. It galled her that it had happened when she was not there to witness it personally. She had already written down her experience of what she had seen. With great regret, she had entered it completely out of chronological order, fo
r she had had to resort to writing on the back of a sketch of an Elderling tapestry, one that she had created when she still resided in Bingtown. Faced with an extreme lack of paper for her documentation, she had recently begun to look through her earlier transcriptions to see which ones had wide margins or blank spaces at the bottom. She hated doing it, but last night she had become resigned to it. She could not suspend her exploration of the city until Leftrin returned.
She already burned with impatience to return to her work. As soon as Heeby brought Rapskal back, she intended to confront him and demand a full accounting of his activities. She hoped he had done no lasting damage to the fragile remains, but in her heart, she was braced to hear of foolishness and destruction. She feared Leftrin was right. The boy was soaking himself in memories from the stone; if he kept it up, he’d soon be a dreamy-eyed shadow of himself, completely lost to this world and today. He’d lose his life in sharing the dream life of Elderlings who had lived centuries ago.
As if her dreams had summoned the dragon, she saw the scarlet dragon in flight over the river. For a moment, her anger faded and she stood transfixed by the sight. Wisps of fog wreathed and then revealed the creature. Heeby seemed to fly more strongly than ever: hunting for herself seemed to agree with her. Then, as the dragon banked and turned back to the far shore, another dot of motion in the sky caught her eye.
Alise peered, rubbed her eyes with both fists, and then peered again. Was it a blue bird over the river? No. Her eyes were not tricking her. Something else was flying over the city. As it banked, wings wide, the distant silhouette became a blue dragon in flight, and unmistakably Sintara!
Shock at the dragon’s newfound ability vied with awe at her beauty. She gleamed like sapphires set in silver in the sunlight. “Oh, queen of the sky, blue, blue, and beyond blue,” Alise said breathlessly.
And felt, with a tingle of pleasure, the distant dragon’s acknowledgment of her heartfelt praise.
Day the 27th of the Change Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
To Reyall, Acting Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
I have won the permission of the Master Keeper here to send you this pigeon with this news. Erek and I have devised a smudge that kills the red lice inside the coops. Begin with a good quantity of cedar boughs, the fresher the better, chopped into small bits. Add to that bitter wort vine; if you do not have it there, let us know, for the trees here are now heavy with it and it is no effort to send you a good supply. Bind the mixture with any oil, until a handful of it squeezed together will hold its shape. Use a good charcoal at the base and be sure there is enough to burn through the night.
The birds must be removed before the smudge fire is made in a pot and left in the coop to smolder all night. Then the coop must be swept, and all nesting materials removed. We have been washing the walls down with lye water as well, but I think it is the smudge that did the work, for we have found such a quantity of the red lice dead on the floors of the coop in the morning, far more than we could imagine had been hiding in the cracks of the wood.
I am sure I need not tell you that all birds returned to the cleaned coop must be absolutely free of red lice or nits, or you will still have dying birds and the smudging to do all over again.
We are receiving reports of non-Guild messenger birds seen flying. The pressure for us to break the quarantine has been intense, but the Master Keeper here intends to keep us caged until a full day has passed with no more dead birds. I myself would make it three days.
A small bit of news. The Tarman has returned, but neither the Meldar son nor that runaway wife was on board. The captain claims they wished to remain in the city they found upriver. So the gossip goes, but it is not enough information to claim the reward money, I am sure! Some suspect the captain of foul play. Others froth that he will not tell them all, and they make noisy plans to follow him when next he goes upriver. They will need far more than good luck to succeed at that!
Remember, the smudge must burn all night for it to work. I look forward to our birds flying again!
And tomorrow I must set aside all my concerns as a bird keeper and take on the worries of a bride!
Detozi
Chapter Thirteen
SECOND THOUGHTS
Thymara awoke with Rapskal’s arm and one leg thrown across her body. He awakened at the same moment and tried to embrace her. “No,” she said, not harshly, and moved apart from him. He made a wry face but let her go. Trepidation had chilled her ardor. Was it guilt for breaking her father’s rules for her or fear of pregnancy? Gray dawn had invaded the room and in its light, everything seemed to take on a different perspective. She could recall only too clearly what she had done last night; what she could not fathom was why she had done it. She remembered how she had felt, beautiful and desirable, and oddly powerful because of that. But how could that have overridden every scrap of her common sense?
The room was comfortably warm, even in her bare skin, but she didn’t feel comfortable parading around naked. Her worn tunic looked less appealing than it ever had. Feeling like a spy and a thief, she made her way to the closet and selected one of the folded Elderling robes. It was silver and blue when she shook it out, shimmering between the two colors. She slipped it over her head and thrust her arms out of the sleeves. It had been made for someone larger than she was, and that was good in at least one aspect. There was plenty of room for her folded wings. She turned back the cuffs of the sleeves and then hiked up the length. Looking hopefully in the closet, she found sashes or scarves on a row of hooks. She took one and belted up the robe so that she could walk. When she rolled her shoulders, the fabric adjusted easily to the bulk of her wings.
“There are shoes, too,” Rapskal reminded her.
Thymara looked over her shoulder. He was propped up on one elbow, unabashedly watching her dress. She looked away from the admiration in his eyes. A blush warmed her face. Embarrassment, or pride that he would like looking at her? She could not say. Stooping down, she found the footwear. She chose a blue pair and pulled them on over her feet, wondering if they would fit. The scaly fabric adjusted, finding her heel and taking the shape of her foot. When she smoothed them around her ankles and lower calves, they hugged her legs and stayed in place. Clothing that fit her changing body, clean warm clothing. Such a simple thing, and so miraculous.
“Choose one for me,” Rapskal suggested.
“A woman’s robe?”
He shrugged his bare shoulders. “In my time in the dream stone, I saw Elderling workers all wearing these sorts of robes. Men and women. Some of the robes were shorter, with trousers underneath. My clothes are in rags, and I really don’t care who wore those robes last.”
The folded garments were stacked on the shelves. Her fingers traveled down the pile until she found one that was gold and brown. “Try this,” she suggested as she drew it out.
“Not red?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“Very well,” he said and embarrassed her by standing up and walking toward her. She tried to pull her eyes away from his dangling genitals and could not until she heard his pleased chuckle.
“Cover yourself,” she suggested sternly, tossing the garment to him.
“You’re sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes,” she replied emphatically and wondered if she spoke truth. The sight of him had stirred her to warmth. She was torn between crushing her reaction and allowing herself to indulge it. She watched him draw the gown over his head and shrug his shoulders into it. The Elderling garments were sleek and long, designed to be ankle length. The skirt of the robe was loose enough to accommodate a full stride, but the top clung nicely to his shoulders and chest. Once donned, there was nothing feminine about the garment on Rapskal. He chose a bright red sash to tie it, and green footwear. The colors rioted gloriously, and she found herself smiling. It was so Rapskal of him to deck himself out so. He hastened to admire himself in
the mirror, and then he turned to her, saying, “It feels so good to be dressed so finely, doesn’t it? If only we had something to eat right now, I’d say there wasn’t a thing in the world left for me to wish for.”
The moment he mentioned being hungry, Thymara’s appetite awoke with a roar. She had nothing left in her bag; she had thought they would only be in the city for an afternoon. “Do you have any food?” she asked hopefully.
“Not a scrap!” he replied cheerfully. “Shall we explore a bit more before we go back?” He cocked his head, and his eyes went distant. “Heeby woke up early. She’s already gone to hunt. So she may kill and sleep before she comes back for us. Unless Sintara would carry us back?”
“Not a chance,” she admitted. She knew that without asking. She tried to copy what he had done, reaching out to her dragon, but felt only her presence, with no awareness of where she was or what she was doing. Well, that was Sintara. If she wanted Thymara to know anything about her, she’d tell her. For her trouble, she sensed the dragon’s agreement. That was all.
Rapskal shrugged at her. “Well, no dragon to ride, no food to eat . . . We may as well finish exploring here. Come on.” He held out a hand to her and, without thinking, she took it. His hand was warm and dry in hers, the fine scales sleek under her thumb. He showed no sign of sharing her distraction at their touch. Instead, he led her out of the room and into the corridor.
The first door they tried was locked and did not yield to Rapskal’s thumping and kicking at it. In a hallway of a dozen doors, they found only two others that were open. Both rooms were similar to the one where they had slept. In one, only the large furniture items remained, as if the owner had packed possessions and left. In the other, the wardrobe held a similar supply of robes, shoes, and, in addition, leggings. Thymara decided it had belonged to a male Elderling, but as she helped herself to a set of leggings she found she didn’t care.
