by Robin Hobb
Reyn gathered Malta and his child close to him and spoke a promise to her. ‘If there is Silver to be had, I will get it for Phron. ’
Tintaglia was weaker than she had thought. The blows she had dealt to their tiller had splintered it but not shorn it from the ship as she had intended. She snaked her head in and seized the wood in her teeth, clamping her jaws on it and tearing at it, intending to pull it free of the vessel. Instead, the ship gave way to her pulling, throwing her off balance. She reflexively opened her wings to brace herself, and the unthinkable happened.
It was a lucky cast of the spear. Even the man who threw it gave a wild shout of surprise when it struck and went in. Tintaglia screamed. In the darkness, the cast had unerringly found her weakest spot, striking the swollen site where the buried arrowhead still festered. She felt a hot stab of unbearable pain, and then the soft infected tissue gave way and the arrowhead tore free. Blood and fluid poured from her into the cold river water. Pain surrounded a terrible relief of pressure as the wound drained. The world spun around her, starlight glinting on the river’s face. She struggled to get away from the ship.
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The first blow from the pole hit the side of her head. Suddenly there were men at the railings of both ships, raining blows down on her with oars and poles. Arrows shot at close range thudded painfully against her even if they did not pierce her scaling. In her confusion, she had trapped herself between the two vessels instead of evading them. Someone flung an empty cask; it struck the back of her head and for an instant, she was stunned, her head sinking beneath the water.
She lifted her head to the wild cheers of both crews. They were killing her and she knew it. Fury washed through her that puny humans should be able to treat a dragon so. Heedless of how she exposed her underbelly, she reared onto her hind legs and battered at the ships with her front legs. At the same time, she threw back her head in a wild trumpeting of anger and despair.
They kill me! The men of Chalced have stabbed and bludgeoned me. I die! Dragonkind, if any of you yet live, avenge me! IceFyre, if you can hear me, know that our young die unhatched! Avenge them!
Carson spoke gruffly. He sounded almost apologetic, as if he had told Malta the child must die. ‘I said the well was sanded in. Not dry. There are ways to dredge out a well and open it again. Drinking-water wells in the Rain Wilds mud in often enough. I just wonder why this well isn’t full of water, as close as we are to the river. Tomorrow, when there is more light to work by, we will hook onto that pot and all lend our backs to drawing it up. And then we will be able to see more clearly how deep the Silver is. But for now, it’s getting colder and I suspect we will have rain again before morning. Let’s get back to shelter for the night, now. All will look better on the morrow. ’
The keepers were nodding and some of them were taking up torches from their makeshift holders. Hennesey offered his arm to Tillamon and she accepted it readily. Skelly was saying a private farewell to Alum behind the stack of timber. The dragons were turning to begin their slow promenade through the streets toward the sand beds or the hot-water baths as keepers and crewmen gathered tools from the work site. Spit followed last, head down, hissing a dribble of venom that sizzled as it hit the paved streets.
‘They need Silver to live?’ Tats said quietly beside Thymara.
‘To live long. And to pass on their memories to their offspring, I think,’ Thymara replied. Reluctantly, she added, ‘As we will need it. I suspect the old Elderlings extended their own lives by repairing their bodies as they aged. ’
They had both heard Mercor’s words. It simply made it more believable to discuss it with one another. Neither mentioned what had been said about Malta’s baby, nor what it might mean to future children born in Kelsingra. In her heart, Thymara believed the child was doomed. He needed a dragon that had not been seen in years, and a magical element that had not flowed in decades. She felt sorry for the family but held her heart back from feeling too much. Privately, she was grateful she had not risked a pregnancy. She had no desire to feel what Malta was feeling.
Rapskal was suddenly beside them. ‘Tomorrow, I think that some of us should find the smaller wells that Mercor spoke of, and see if they are still dry. It seems to me that if a well goes dry because of an earthquake, perhaps another one might open it again. ’
‘Good plan,’ Tats said, and in his voice she heard his worry for his green dragon. She tried to decide how she felt about this possible threat, and felt an echo from Sintara as she said, ‘I will wait to see how we fare with this well before I become too fearful. It may be that the well is shallow but refills fast. Some Silver at least we can draw from it, once the final blockage is cleared. ’
‘There is that!’ Rapskal exclaimed hopefully. ‘And my Heeby will need …’ His words trailed away. His eyes widened as he drew a deep breath and then held it.
‘Rapskal?’ Thymara ventured.
He turned his head sharply, and his eyes suddenly focused on her. ‘Treachery most foul! Dragons are set on by men! We must fly to her aid, now, tonight!’
His words were nearly drowned in the wild trumpeting as the dragons took up his call. A moment later, the meaning of it all permeated her brain. Somewhere, a dragon was dying, killed by humans. A queen dragon. Tintaglia! Tintaglia, she who had guided them all up the river as serpents, Tintaglia was falling to human treachery! She summoned them to avenge her!
‘Tintaglia, Tintaglia!’ Malta’s anguished shriek was a higher note among the dragons’ trumpeting. ‘If you and your offspring die, so do mine! Blue queen, wonder of the skies, do not die! Do not allow yourself to be taken!’ She turned suddenly and spoke to the other keepers. She stood tall in the night and the force of her plea was something they all felt. ‘Elderlings, rise! Go to her aid, I beg you! For the sake of my child, yes, but for the sake of all our dragons! For if you let this happen to sapphire Tintaglia, what safety is there for any of you?’
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Malta gleamed in the yellow light of the torches and lanterns, and with a strange thrill, Thymara recognized the Queen of the Elderlings. No wonder all of Jamaillia had seen her so, commanding with words as compelling as the glamour of the dragon. Thymara was suddenly certain that if Tintaglia could feel Malta’s words, she would take heart from them.
‘We fly!’ Rapskal roared in response. His voice had gone husky and wild. His eyes glared with fury and the set of his mouth made him a stranger to Thymara. He paced among the churning Elderlings and dragons, seeming suddenly taller. ‘My armour! My spear!’ he cried aloud. ‘Where are my servants? Send them for my armour. We must fly tonight. We cannot wait for light, for by then she may have gone into eternal darkness. Rise up and seize your arms. Ready the dragon baskets! Bring forth the battle harness!’
Thymara stared at him, open-mouthed. She felt caught alone in a vortex of whirling times. Tellator. Tellator spoke in that tone of command, Tellator strode like that. All around her, dragons were rearing and trumpeting furiously. Keepers darted among them, some imploring their dragons to stay safely here, to not try to fly in darkness, while some of the keepers had moved clear of a horde of dragons shaking out their wings and snapping their necks to fill their poison glands. Rapskal’s peculiar behaviour seemed to have gone unnoticed.
He strode toward her, a clenched-teeth smile on his face. She froze as he took her in his arms and held her to his heart. ‘Have no fear, my darling. A hundred times have I gone into battle, and always I have returned to you, have I not? This time will be no exception! Have faith in me, Amarinda. I will safely return to you, both honour and life intact. We will turn back any that dare to enter our territory uninvited!’
‘Rapskal!’ She shouted his name and broke free of his embrace. Seizing him by the shoulders, she shook him as hard as she could. ‘You are Rapskal and I am Thymara. And you are not a warrior!’
He stared at her oddly as he drew himself up taller. ‘Mayb
e not, Thymara, but someone must fight, and I am the only one who has a dragon willing to carry me. I have to go. Those cruel murderers have attacked a queen dragon, seeking to butcher her like a cow! It cannot be tolerated. ’
The voice was Rapskal’s and the very earnest stare was his too, but the cadence of his voice and the words he used were Tellator’s. She tried again. ‘Rapskal, you are not him. And I am not Amarinda. I am Thymara. ’
His eyes seemed to focus on her again. ‘Of course you are, Thymara. And I know who I am. But I also bear Tellator’s memories. The price of his memories is a small one, and that is to honour the life of the man who gave them to me. To continue his duties and work. ’ He leaned closer to her and peered into her eyes as if looking for something. ‘As you should honour Amarinda’s memories by continuing her tasks. Someone must, Thymara, and that someone is you. ’
She looked at him and shook her head. She became dimly aware of Tats standing beside them, watching them both intently. She could take no time for him now, regardless of what he thought. She held tight to Rapskal and spoke earnestly. ‘Rapskal, I don’t want you to be Tellator. I don’t want to be Amarinda. I want us to be us, and whatever we do, I want it to be our own decision, not some continuation of someone else’s life. ’
He gave a small sigh and shifted his gaze to Tats. ‘Watch over her, my friend. And if I do not return, think well of me. ’ His eyes met Thymara’s again. ‘Some day, you will understand. And sooner, I think, would be better than later. For the sake of my honour and my word. Heeby! Heeby, to me!’
He turned away from her. Some other woman from another time exclaimed, ‘Your sword! Your armour!’ She very nearly ran after him.
But Tats was at her side, holding firmly to her arm. He spoke by her ear in the milling chaos of dragons and keepers. ‘He has neither, and never has had them. Thymara. Come back to me. You cannot stop him. You know that. ’
‘I know. ’ She wondered if Tats spoke of Rapskal charging off to fight a battle weaponless, or of his assumption of another man’s life and duties. She looked at the man beside her. Tears welled painfully in her eyes. ‘We’re losing him. We’re losing our friend. ’
‘I fear you may be right. ’ He pulled her into his arms, held her head against his chest to shield her as all around them, dragons trumpeted and then leapt from the ground to take flight. The wind of their beating wings battered them and their war cries buffeted her ears. In moments, they were high above them.
Thymara lifted her eyes to watch them go, but the overcast sky had swallowed them all, and only rain fell on her uplifted face.
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Day the 6th of the Plough Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick
To Trader Finbok of the Bingtown Traders, Bingtown
Dear Trader Finbok,
I am in possession of a message from you which, I must admit, confuses me greatly. Either you have sent this message to me in error and are unaware of the great damage such a missive could do to my reputation, or you are a villain and a scoundrel who deliberately seeks to disgrace me. Perhaps you are deceived by some evil person who has slandered my name by pretending to be me. I choose to hope that you are not truly the malicious sort of person who would risk both our reputations.
The letter I received not only claims that I have been sending you information stolen from other Traders’ messages but also shows that you have been paying me a great deal of money for such information. And it declares that unless I surrender certain information about your son, of whom I assure you I have never heard, you will betray me to the Guild Masters in Bingtown!
I am astonished and shocked to receive such a letter. It has occurred to me that perhaps it is actually from an enemy of yours who seeks to cause you financial and social disaster! For surely, if I took this to the Guild Masters, protesting my innocence, they would present it to the Bingtown Traders’ Council, and leave it to them to determine if you have been a party to the theft of secrets of other Traders and profited by such knowledge.
Please immediately reply to this missive so that we may clear up this whole matter.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Final Chances
‘Dead things float. ’
The Chalcedean spoke the words firmly, as if ordering someone or something to comply with them. The weary men gathered on the deck shuffled their feet, but no one replied. It was all too obvious to them that perhaps dead dragons did not float. In last night’s uproarious battle, they had slain the blue monster and seen her sink beneath the water. Many of the men had cried out in dismay as the lifeless hulk had sunk. The others had counselled them to wait, she would rise.
The sun had passed its zenith. No carcass had bobbed to the surface yet. No one had slept. All hands had kept watch on the water, fearing at first that the dragon was not dead and might venture another attack. Then, as the night wore on and she did not rise, they watched, fearing that their long-sought prize, the foundation of all their dreams, was on the bottom of the river, for ever out of their reach.
They had probed the area between the moored ships with their longest poles and felt only water or river bottom. One hapless oar-slave, secured by a rope about his ankle, had been thrown overboard and commanded to dive as deep as he could and see what he might see. He had not wished to go; he had cried out in protest as his fellows had obediently lifted him and then flung him over the side. No swimmer he; he had sunk, and risen to the surface to splash and beg for help. The shouted commands for him to dive and look for the dragon carcass had not, in Hest’s opinion, moved him.
Rather, his own ineptitude had sunk him again. The second time, they had dragged him from the water by the line about his ankle. He had lain on the deck like a dead thing, his skin kissed red by the river, puffing air into his lungs, his eyes filmed with grey from the acid water. They shouted at him, demanding to know what he had seen. ‘Nothing! I saw nothing, I see nothing!’ The man’s terror at being blind had robbed him of his fear of his master.
The Chalcedean had kicked him disdainfully, proclaimed him useless and would have discarded him over the side if one of the others had not insisted that a blind man on an oar was better than an empty bench. Hest had noted that none of the Chalcedeans had volunteered to dive overboard.
Now as the rising sun granted them enough light that they could see under the trees, they scanned the nearby banks to see if the dragon’s carcass had washed ashore. There was nothing. Then the Chalcedean had announced that perhaps the current had carried their prize downstream. His haggard men stared at him with sick doubt in their eyes. The dragon was gone and they knew it.
Their leader did not share their gloom. ‘Oh, come!’ Lord Dargen cajoled them. ‘Will you rest now and let our fortune slip away from us? The current has carried our prize downstream. We will seek her there, and know that every stroke of the oar carries us closer to home as well as closer to a golden future!’
It sounded like chicanery to Hest, a mother’s lie to make a child open his mouth for the bitter medicine. But the crews accepted it and began to make ready for a day’s travel. What choice did they have? Odd, how living as a slave was showing him how little choice most men had in their lives. His existence had always been shaped by his father’s authority. Last night, when his stolen rags and chill hold had begun to seem like a cosy refuge from standing on the deck holding a lantern aloft for the searchers, he had reconsidered Sedric’s fantasy of the two of them running off to a distant country. Sedric had voiced it only once, toward the end of their time together in Bingtown. Hest had scoffed at it back then and forbidden him to speak again of his idiotic dream.
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Hest had recalled the quarrel in detail as he had stood on the darkened deck, spending hours of his life functioning as a lamp stand as he held the lantern high. It was Sedric’s fault he had come to thi
s, he had decided. His lover had dreamed of gaining a fortune and moving far from Bingtown, to dwell together in luxury where they would not have to hide their relationship from Hest’s wife or Bingtown society. Hest had told him not to be ridiculous, that they were fine as they were. Hest had had no wish to gamble his comfortable life. But, whether he willed it or not, Sedric had cast the dice for them. And instead of a fortune and a life of freedom in some exotic location, he had won slavery for Hest and whatever peculiar exile Sedric now endured.
He had heard the dreams of the Chalcedean dragon-hunters. Sedric had not imagined the vast value of dragon parts. For the first time, he wondered if Sedric had gained his ambition, had harvested blood or scales, sold them and gone off to live alone the dream that Hest had mocked. No. He had not. For if Sedric had taken such plunder to the Duke of Chalced or to any of the trade contacts they knew, these others would have known of it. Perhaps they would even have been able to go home, knowing that someone else had finished their terrible quest for them. And if Sedric had acquired a fortune, he would have come back to Hest and pleaded with him to go with him. Of that Hest was certain. Sedric would always come back to him.
So. What had become of Sedric and Alise? He did not much care why his frumpy little wife had not returned to him, but what had kept Sedric from his side? Being so deeply infatuated with Hest in his juvenile and romantic way, surely if Sedric could have come home, he would have, with or without dragon’s blood to trade. And Captain Leftrin had claimed that both Alise and Sedric were alive. So much he had gleaned during his time in Trehaug and Cassarick.
‘What is that?’ A man’s cry, full of wonder and perhaps fear sent everyone scrambling to the rails to peer over the side. Had the dragon returned? But a glance at the lookout showed him pointing, not at the river but at the sky.
‘Parrots,’ someone exclaimed in disgust. ‘Just a flock of blue and green parrots. ’
‘And gold and silver and scarlet and blue,’ another man cried.
‘They’re a bit big for parrots …’
