by Robin Hobb
And then, it seemed to her, she had simply leaned forward too far. She remembered that first moment with an odd kind of ecstasy. She had spread out her limbs to the wind's rush past her, and almost, almost recalled flying. But then the first branch slapped her face stingingly, and then another thicker branch slammed into her midsection. She curled around it, gasping for air, but flipped past a hold and fell, back first, onto the next lower branch. It caught her across the small of her back, and she would have screamed if she'd had air in her lungs. The branch gave and then sprang up, flinging her into the air.
Instinct saved her life. Her next plummet was through a swathe of finer branches. She clutched at them, hand and foot, as she passed through them, and they sagged down with her, giving her grasping hands time to clamp tight on them. There she clung, mindless but alive, gasping and then panting, and finally weeping hopelessly. She was too frightened to seek for a better hold, too frightened to open her eyes and look for help or open her mouth and cry out.
A lifetime later, her father had found her. He had roped up to reach her, and when finally he could touch her, he had tied her body to his, and then painstakingly cut the thin branches that she would not let go of. Even when they no longer served any purpose, she had held tight to those handfuls of twigs, and continued to clutch them until she fell asleep that night.
At dawn her father had woken her and taken her with him for the day's gathering. That day and every day after, she was always with him. She thought on that now and a chill question rose in her. Had he done so because he thought she had tried to kill herself? Or because he thought her mother had pushed her?
Had her mother pushed her?
She tried to recall that moment before the fall. Had a touch from behind given her momentum? Or only her own despair drawing her down? She couldn't decide. She blinked her eyes and ceased trying to recall the truth. The truth didn't matter. It was a thing that had happened to her, years ago. Let it go.
She felt the branches of her perch give and smelled her father's pipe as he ventured out to join her. She spoke without looking at him. 'Has she said any more about the offer for me?'
'No. But I visited down branch, and Gedder and Sindy asked me what decision you had made. I had suspected your mother would brag to Sindy before she had even spoken to you and me about it. The offer is a bad one, Thymara. It's not for you, and I'm angry that your mother even considered you for it. It's more than dirty and hard; it's dangerous to the point of no return.' Her father was scowling and his words came faster with his cascading anger. 'I'm sure you've heard talk. The Rain Wilds Council has long been weary of pouring resources into feeding the dragons. Tintaglia ceased keeping her end of the bargain long ago, and yet here we are, paying taxes to hire hunters or, worse, bring in sheep and cattle to keep the dragons fed. There is no end in sight to it, either, for all have heard tales of the longevity of dragons and it is obvious to all that these dragons will never be able to feed themselves. When Selden of the Khuprus and Vestrit Traders was present, he kept the Council soothed by promising them that Tintaglia and her new mate must eventually come and help with the problem. And he bullied them a bit by saying that if they neglected the dragons or were deliberately cruel to them, Tintaglia would certainly be angered. Well, Selden has been called away to Bingtown. The Elderlings Reyn and Malta Khuprus have spoken out on the dragons' behalf, but they are not as persuasive as young Selden. The entire city is tired of living with a horde of hungry dragons nearby, and who can blame them?
'But for the first time, the Council heard proposals for dealing with the situation. It was a closed session, but no door is so tight that rumours cannot escape it. One angry member of the Council said that the dragons have no future and that it would be kinder to put them out of their misery. No sooner had Trader Polsk spoken than Trader Lorek rose to denounce him and say that he but hoped to salvage the dragon corpses and sell them off. There have been rumours of the Duke of Chalced offering enormous sums of money for a whole dragon, alive or pickled, it was all one to him, and lesser sums for any part of a dragon. It is well known that Polsk's affairs have suffered lately and that he might be tempted by such offers. There are rumours that already one dragon was lured away from the herd and slaughtered for trophies. All that is known for certain is that one dragon disappeared in the night. One member of the Rain Wild Council claims it was done by Chalcedean spies; others suspect their fellows, but most think the pathetic creature wandered off and died. So Polsk repeated that the dragons seemed in such poor condition that it would be mercy to kill them.
'Trader Lorek asked him if he did not fear that Tintaglia might visit the same sort of «mercy» on Trehaug. So then another Council member pointed out that we have had offers from wealthy nobles and even cities hoping to buy dragons. Surely, he said, that was better and more sensible than killing valuable creatures. They proposed sending out notices to those considered most likely to be able to purchase a dragon, advertising the colours and genders available and rewarding the highest bidders with the dragons of their choosing.
'Dujia, the woman who advises the Council on matters relating to the Tattooed, stood up angrily to protest that. She is among those who can hear the dragons, and so she spoke out strongly saying that creatures that can think and speak as the dragons do are not animals to be sold on an auction block. A few of the other Traders who dispute that the dragons are anything but animals said that she was taking the matter too seriously, that creatures that can only communicate with some people rather than everyone should not be treated as if they are equal to humans. And then, of course, the arguments degenerated. Some demanded to know if that meant speakers of foreign languages were not full humans. Someone else quipped that surely that explained Chalcedeans. That, from what I was told, at least broke the tension, and people began to discuss all sorts of possible solutions to the dragon problem.'
Thymara listened raptly. Her father did not often discuss Rain Wilds politics with her. She had heard scattered rumours of problems with the dragons, but had not paid much attention to the details before now. 'Why cannot we just ignore the dragons, then? If they are dying off, then soon the problem will have solved itself.'
'Not soon enough, I fear. Those that remain alive are tough, and some say becoming more vicious and unpredictable every day.'
'Seems to me that we can scarcely blame them,' Thymara said quietly. She thought back to the shining promise the newly hatched dragons had seemed to offer on that long-ago day and shook her head over what had become of them.
'Blame them or not, the situation cannot go on. The diggers at Cassarick have refused to try to do any more work there while the dragons are loose. They're a hazard. They have no respect for humans. They've had problems with dragons following the workers down into the excavations, and knocking loose the blocking and supports. One worker was chased. Some people say that the dragon wanted to eat him, others that he provoked the dragon, and still others that the dragon was after the food he was carrying. It all comes down to the same thing. The dragons are both a danger and a nuisance to the people who have moved to Cassarick to develop the digs there. And there has been a series of incidents involving the dead. At a recent funeral, a family was committing a grandmother's body to the river. They let the river take the bound corpse, and as they were casting the wreaths and flowers out onto the river, a blue dragon waded out, seized the body, and ran off into the forest with it. The family gave chase, but couldn't catch up with it. None of the dragons will admit it happened, but the family is virtually certain that their grandmother's body was devoured by a dragon. And, of course, the worry is that while they may begin by sating their appetites with our dead, it may not be long before they eat the living.'
Thymara sat in shocked silence. Finally she said quietly, 'I suppose they are not what I thought dragons would be. It's disappointing to know that they are no more than animals.'
Her father shook his head. 'Worse than the lowest beasts, my dear, if what we are hearing is true. Dr
agons can speak and reason. For them to sink to those sorts of things is inexcusable. Unless they are deranged. Or simple.'
Thymara unwillingly dragged out her memories of the hatch. 'They did not seem healthy when they emerged from their cocoons. Perhaps their minds are as badly formed as their bodies.'
'Perhaps.' Her father sighed. 'Reality is often unkind to legends. Or perhaps, in the distant past, dragons were intelligent and noble. Or perhaps we have looked at the images the Elderlings left us, and decided to imagine them as other than they really were. Still, I have to agree with you. I think I am as disappointed as you are, to find them such low beasts.'
After a time she asked, 'But what does any of this have to do with me?'
'Well, Gedder and Sindy only had the bones of it, but after much debate, the Council has decided on the obvious. The dragons must be moved away from Cassarick. Selden the Elderling has spoken of a place far upriver, a place where dragons and Elderlings once lived side by side, with plentiful hunting and elegant palaces and gardens… well… it all sounds to me like a tale of a place that might have existed long ago, when both Trehaug and Cassarick were above ground. Several years ago, he proposed an expedition to search for it. No one rose to the bait at the time. Well, who can say that it is not all sunken and buried in a swamp now? But the Council has chosen to believe it is not; evidently the young dragons have vague memories of it themselves, and some have spoken of it longingly. There are even rumours that it was the capital city of the Elderlings, and that their treasure houses were there. Of course, that has piqued quite a bit of interest. The Council wishes the dragons to leave and go there to live. The dragons have agreed to go, but only if they are accompanied by humans who will hunt for them and assist them on the journey. And so, in their wisdom, the Council has cast about for folk it considers expendable. And that is the «offer» that has been made to you, for you to be a dragon tender and herd them upriver to a place that possibly no longer exists, and that definitely has never been seen by any Rain Wilder.' He snorted. 'It will be a thankless, dangerous and futile task. All know that for miles both upriver and down, the area under the great trees is endless swamp, bog and slough. If there were a great city, our scouts would have found it long ago. I don't know if it's a mirage of riches that greed makes us seek, or exile for the dragons under the pretence of sending them to a refuge.'
Her father had become more and more outraged as he spoke. As he did when agitated, he had taken so many puffs on his pipe that Thymara felt she sat in a cloud of sweet tobacco smoke. When he fell silent at last, she turned her head to glance back at him. His eyes were faintly luminescent in the darkness. Her own, she knew, glowed a strong blue, yet another mark of her deformity. She held his gaze as she said quietly, 'I think I'd like to go, Father.'
'Don't be silly, child! I doubt that any such place still exists. As for making a perilous trip upriver past any charts we have, in the company of hungry dragons and hired hunters and treasure seekers, well, there can be no good end to such an errand. Why would you want to go? Because of things your mother has said? Because no matter what she says about you or to you, I will always—'
'I know, Father.' She cut through his rising storm of words. As she spoke, she turned her head to look through the network of foliage at the lights of Trehaug. It was the only home, the only world she had ever known. 'I know that I am always welcome in your home. I know that you love me. You must. You must have always loved me, to salvage my life when I was only a few hours old. I know that. But I think my mother is also right in another way. Perhaps it is time for me to go out and find a life of my own. I am not foolish, Father. I know this can end badly. But I also know I am a survivor. If it looks like the expedition is doomed, I'll come back to you, and live out my life here as I always have. But I will have made at least an attempt at one adventure in my life.' She cleared her throat and tried to speak lightly as she added, 'And if the expedition to move the dragons is successful, if at the least we find a place for them, or if we are wildly successful and actually rediscover this fabled city, think what it could mean for us. For all the Rain Wilders.'
Her father finally spoke. 'You don't have to prove yourself, Thymara. I know your value. I've never doubted it. You don't have to prove yourself to me, or your mother or anyone else.'
She smiled and again looked over her shoulder at him. 'Perhaps not to anyone except myself, Father.' She took a deep breath and spoke decisively. 'I'm travelling down trunk tomorrow, to the Council Hall. I'm going to accept their offer.'
It seemed to take her father a long time to reply. When he spoke, his voice was deeper than usual and his smile seemed almost sickly. 'Then I'll go with you. To see you off, my dear.'
Day the 20th of the Hope Moon
Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug
to Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
In the seated scroll case, a message from Trader Mojoin to Trader Pelz. Confidential. Deliver with all seals intact.
Erek,
I note with gratitude that the two cages of Jamaillian King Pigeons you shipped to us on the Goldendown have arrived safely and settled well into their new coop. The size of the adult birds is impressive and I can only hope that their carrying capacity and endurance will match their size. Thank you for sharing this new influx of breeding stock. I hope that Reyall continues to live up to your expectations for him and to make his family proud. His father will be calling upon him soon to meet the family of his Three Ships intended and see if the match is suitable. Please do not advise him of this. His father wishes to see him about his work when he is unaware of a family visit. Again, my thanks for the Kings.
Detozi
CHAPTER SEVEN
Promises and Threats
'Because I want to go.' She spoke each word crisply and precisely. 'Because, five years ago, you promised me I could. The promise was given, in fact, on the same day that you gave me this scroll.' Alise leaned across her over-sized desk to tap the glass-topped rosewood box lined with silk in which the scroll was displayed and protected. She refrained from handling it as much as possible. Even the necessary work of transcribing it had taken a toll. When she needed to, she consulted the careful copy she had made of the precious work.
'I've scarcely returned home from my travel, my dear. Cannot I have a few days to think on this? Quite honestly, I will admit that I had forgotten I'd promised you such a trip. The Rain Wilds!' He sounded amazed.
Hest's words were not precisely accurate. He had returned from his latest trading expedition to Chalced yesterday afternoon. But Alise had learned, over the years of their marriage, that Hest's return to Bingtown on any given day did not necessarily match his return to the home they shared. As he had so often told her, there were many matters to settle at the tariff docks, merchants to contact immediately to inform them of goods he had secured on his latest venture, and often the sales of those goods took place within hours of their touching the docks. Such transactions necessitated the wine and fine dinner and late-night conversation that smoothed the way for commerce in Bingtown. Yesterday, she had become aware that he had arrived back in town when his travelling trunks were brought up to the house, but when both luncheon and dinner had passed with no sign of him, she had not bothered to wait up. Yesterday had been the fifth anniversary of their wedding. She wondered if he remembered it with the same degree of regret that she did, and then had laughed aloud at the idea that Hest might remember their anniversary at all. That night, she had sought her own bed at her usual late hour, and as they did not share a chamber except on the occasions when he chose to visit hers, she had been unaware of his return home. At breakfast, the only evidence that the master of the house had returned was the presence of his favourite garlic sausages on the sideboard, and the large pot of tea that had joined her favoured coffee on the heavy silver service tray. Of Hest himself, there had been no sign.
At mid-morning, his secretary Sedric ha
d visited her study, to ask if any vital invitations were still pending, and to inquire if any other important missives had arrived during the master's absence. Sedric had spoken formally, but smiled as he did so, and after a moment his good nature and charm had forced her to return that courtesy. As annoyed as she was with Hest, she would not take it out on his secretary. Sedric had that effect on most people. Although he was only a couple of years younger than Hest and older than Alise, she could not help thinking of him as a boy. It wasn't only that she'd known him since childhood when she and his sister Sophie had been close friends. Even though he was older than both of them, they had still treated him as if he were younger, for so he had always seemed to Alise. There was a gentleness to him that she'd never seen in other men. He'd always been willing to pause in his day and listen to their girlish concerns. Such attention from an older boy had been flattering.
He was, she reflected, still a favourite with her. His attentiveness and interest in her conversation at meals often eased the sting of Hest's near-contempt for her thoughts. Not only his manner but his appearance was always charming. His head of gleaming brown curls was perpetually tousled in an artlessly perfect way. His eyes were always bright, never showing the effects of a late night spent accompanying his master to whatever gambling parlour or theatre Hest's latest merchant partner favoured. No matter how short the notice, Sedric was always able to rise to the occasion, appearing impeccably clad and groomed and yet still retaining an easy manner that suggested it was effortless for him.
Alise had long since ceased to wonder why Hest made Sedric his constant companion. In any social situation, the man was an asset. Born of Trader stock himself, he moved easily in Bingtown society and with acumen when Hest was dealing with his trading partners. There had been a flurry of gossip when Hest had offered Sedric a position as his secretary; it was obviously beneath his perceived social position, no matter how poor his family had become. Alise had been a bit startled when Sedric accepted it. But in the years since then, all had come to see that he was far more than a humble servant. He had proven himself as an excellent secretary to Hest and certainly as an affable and entertaining comrade on the long sea trips that Hest had to undertake yearly. He advised and assisted Hest in matters of dress and grooming. When Hest's sometimes abrupt manner gave offence or cooled a budding business relationship, Sedric artfully employed his tact and charm to set things to rights.