‘Maybe tomorrow will be a better day,’ he dared to say. He coughed again.
‘I doubt it,’ she said, but without bitterness. ‘But whatever it is, it will be the only day we have.’ She left the room slowly, pausing at the door. ‘Your dragon,’ she said. She cocked her head at him. ‘Did it hurt when she changed you?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Sometimes the changes are uncomfortable. But what we shared was worth it. I wish I could explain it better.’
‘Does she know where you are now? Does she know how they hurt you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘If she did, would she come here? To help you?’
‘I’d like to think so,’ he said quietly.
‘So would I,’ she replied. And on those odd words, she left him.
Day the 5th of the Plough Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Jani Khuprus of the Rain Wild Traders, Trehaug
To Ronica and Keffria Vestrit of the Bingtown Traders, Bingtown
Keffria, I have taken your advice. A lengthy explanation of Malta’s absence is on its way to you in a wax-sealed packet sent on the liveship Ophelia and entrusted to Captain Tenira. He is, as we all well know, a man of impeccable honour.
I beg you to hold the information in deepest confidence. I myself am still awaiting more tidings, but I have shared what I know with you. I regret that I must be so evasive and leave you to endure the wait for the packet’s arrival. Right now I share your reluctance to entrust information about confidential family business to Guild birds.
I share your agony over Selden’s fate. Would that we had even one scrap of certainty of what has befallen him. We have sent a response to Wintrow, telling him we still await news.
All else here is the best that it can be, given the daily worries that we share for Selden.
I pray you, if you receive good tidings about our boy, send them as swiftly as possible, by bird. That would be a message I would wish to share with the world.
May Sa shelter us all!
Jani
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dragon Warrior
The endless pursuit dragged on and on and on. Hest was sickened by it. It was not that he felt any sympathy for the creature they hunted. It was the utter boredom spiked with sudden uncontrollable danger that roiled his belly.
The Chalcedean and his fellows were determined to take the dragon, to harvest blood, scale, eyes, flesh, tongue, liver and spleen. And whatever other bits of her they salivated over each night as he waited on them at the galley table. Tonight, the Chalcedean and his cohorts were full of wild optimism. They slammed their mugs on the table for emphasis and praised their own cleverness and courage in persevering so long. The dragon was theirs, and with her death, fame and glory would come to them. They would kill her, plunder her body and go home to fame and riches and, sweetest of all, safety for themselves and their families. The Duke would cease his threats and shower them with gifts and favours. Cherished sons long held hostage in horrific conditions would be restored to them.
So they spoke by night when darkness forced them to cease their drudging hunt and tie up for the night. By dawn, they would once more stalk the dragon. The damned beast refused to die. She trudged away from them, day after day and possibly long into the night. Each day, the impervious ships battled the current until they caught up with her. Twice she had lain in wait for them and sprung out in a wild attempt to capsize their vessels. She had splintered oars, and eaten two rowers who had fallen or been flung overboard by her attacks. She seemed to take great pleasure in crushing them slowly in her jaws as they shrieked in agony.
It had not discouraged the Chalcedean. Lord Dargen was relentless.
Captives had been taken from below decks to replace the rowers who had been lost, chained to oars as if they were slaves. The merchants and Traders were poor replacements for the work-hardened slaves and sailors that had perished. Yet the Chalcedean and his followers seemed not to care that nineteen of twenty arrows shot at the dragon either missed or splashed uselessly into the river. If the twentieth one loosened a scale or stuck for even a moment in a tender part of her body, they roared and screeched victoriously.
Hest did not see why they put so much effort into it. It seemed plain to him that the dragon was dying. Daily she looked more dilapidated. She was obviously incapable of flight. She carried one of her wings partially open at an odd angle. Her colours were faded and the smell of her was terrible, a stench of rotten meat. Rousted from wherever she had finally taken rest at night, she now put most of her energy into staying out of range of their arrows. Sometimes she sought refuge in the reed-beds at the swampy edge of the river. Lying down, she became almost invisible to them. Then Lord Dargen would force some of his men over the side to harry and taunt her into showing herself. Some of those men became food. Privately, Hest believed that if the Chalcedean would stop feeding his henchmen to the dragon, she would sooner succumb to her injuries and die.
