“Girtle? Where’s Girtle?”
“Why, right before your eyes, man. There. Over there.” From where she lay, Kaeldra could see Yanil clearly. He staggered back to his cart and stabbed a finger at the mule. “Girtle and I, we go way back. We’ve had many a long chat, me and Girtle girl, haven’t we now? And she never nags or talks back, unlike some females I could mention. Does ye, now, Girtle? Does ye?” He patted the mule’s rump. “No, you don’t, there now, that’s a good girl.”
“Well . . .” The light did not move. Cold seeped up from the stones, numbed Kaeldra’s chest and legs. Her tunic clung icily to her back. She bit down to silence the chattering of her teeth.
More footsteps. “What is it?” said another voice from the ship.
The first man muttered a response. “Old coot,” Kaeldra heard, and “crack-brained,” and “sampling his own wares.”
The light shifted away, and Kaeldra heard their footsteps fade across the deck.
“You’re shiverin’,” Yanil whispered. “It’s warmer in the cart. I’ll lend you some blankets if you’ll tell me how you came to be chaperoned by dragons.”
She wanted to trust him, this kind-seeming man. She wanted him to think well of her, or at least not despise her. Perhaps if he knew everything . . . Anyway, she had little choice. She must trust him or he would betray her to the sentries.
The moon hung low in the sky when Kaeldra finished telling her story. Yanil scratched his chin and looked at her thoughtfully. “That was a stout thing you did,” he said. “Gettin’ the medicine for your sister. But I can’t say I hold with what you’re doin’ now. Those beastlings—they may have been precious, but now they’re gettin’ big. They’re gettin’ perilous, as you saw yourself.”
“But I’m taking them away,” Kaeldra said. “I’m taking them away from people, to their kyn, where they will be safe. And,” she added hastily, “to where people will be safe from them.”
“Well, and I’m not so sure there be such a place. Not anymore. There was room for the Ancient Ones once, and splendid beasts they were. But now the world is full o’ folk. No matter where you travel, seems like someone’s got there first. The Ancient Ones, they can’t abide near folk, you know that, missy. It’s them killin’ our stock, and us killin’ them, and them, bein’ wild things, killin’ back.
“I’ve heard tales of a dragon migration, but gave them no credit. I guessed the Ancient Ones were done in long ago. But supposin’ there were such a place, where dragonkyn still live. How would you go about findin’ it?”
“Landerath will know. The man I told you about.”
“Aye, the man you’ve never met in the place you’ve never been.”
Kaeldra swallowed. The ship creaked; the waves hissed and rumbled against the shore.
“And—you don’t mind me askin’, missy—what about yourself? When the lord’s men find their way out of that labyrinth, you’re in a royal vat o’ brine. And another thing, about Rog. I’ve heard rumors of late, of strange goings-on about that place. Treason, an uprising, some suchlike. Not a profitable place to be.”
Kaeldra pulled the blankets tighter around her.
“And I suppose they’re close by, are they, as we sit and speak.”
Kaeldra hesitated, then nodded.
Yanil sighed. “You know they’ll be a menace, no matter where you take ’em. They’re wild animals, like the wolf cubs my Gar once brought home. Cute as kittens, they were. Like a fool, I let the lad talk me into keepin’ ’em—just till they grew a mite bigger, he said. But the wildness grows within ’em, no matter what you do. We kept ’em penned and their little bellies full, but within a half-moon they were killin’ chickens. And dragons be a hundredfold worse, growin’, as they do, to a monstrous size. And what on earth can feed ’em? Tell me that, now.”
“I—I don’t know,” Kaeldra said. “But there must be something. . . . Landerath, he’ll know.”
“Aye, the man you’ve never met in the place you’ve never been.”
It did sound hopeless when put like that. Kaeldra felt a sinking inside her. What would Yanil do now? Had she been wrong to trust him?
Yanil shook his head. “That fellow was right. I must be crack-brained.”
Kaeldra looked up.
“I didn’t kill those wolf cubs, though by the heavens I should have. I took ’em up to the high country. I don’t suppose they stayed there. If my neighbors knew what I did, they’d have a lynchin’ party with me as guest of honor.
“I’m thinkin’ I owe you, for that you saved my Gar. But if I get you on this ship to Kragrom, you must promise not to loose those beastlings until you know they’ll do no man harm. Do you promise that?”
“Oh, yes,” Kaeldra said. “Yes, I promise.”
Yanil sighed again. “You’re a liar,” he said, “and I’m crack-brained.”
Kaeldra watched as Yanil pried the lids off four casks with an iron bar. Not all of the casks were full, he explained. He had already delivered a dozen to the castle and had picked up the empty casks from his last trip. Often, the casks were returned with circular hatches cut in their lids. Yanil hated this practice, for it ruined the casks for storing brew. Now, however, the altered casks suited his purpose.
Kaeldra’s heart leaped at the loud creaks the lids made, and she glanced nervously toward the ship. But the sentry, perhaps believing it was just the old coot sampling more of his wares, did not appear.
“Well, and what do you think?” Yanil asked, inviting her to look inside a cask. “ ’Tisn’t the Red Hart Inn, but it’s travelin’ your way.”
It certainly was not an inn of any sort. The casks had seemed large from the outside. But now, as Kaeldra contemplated sitting in one, they seemed tiny and dark, full of a rank, sour odor.
She forced a smile. “This will do very well,” she said.
“Perhaps some hay to pillow that hard wood?” Yanil did not wait for an answer, but pulled handfuls of hay from his cart and stuffed them into the cask. “And for the beastlings,” he said, stuffing hay into the other three casks. “Now, perhaps you had better be callin’ ’em, before the sun comes up and the both of us get thrown in the brig.”
Kaeldra called for the draclings. Three heads appeared over the edge of the wharf. The draclings traipsed across the stone, eyeing Yanil. It seemed to Kaeldra that they had grown without her noticing; now they were longer than she was tall. Synge still limped, Kaeldra saw.
Girtle stamped and switched her tail. Yanil backed away. “You’ll be tellin’ them not to—”
“They won’t hurt you,” Kaeldra promised.
〈You must get in here,〉 she said, pointing at a cask, not at all certain that the draclings would obey.
Embyr reared up, resting her front talons on the rim of one cask. She sniffed at it, then sidled inside and curled up in the hay. She raised her head and flicked her tongue at Kaeldra. Relieved, Kaeldra scratched the dracling’s throat.
〈Come on, Pyro. You, too, Synge.〉 They disappeared into the casks.
“Perhaps you had better set the lids on,” Yanil said, with a wary glance at the draclings. Kaeldra did, and only then did Yanil come near. He tamped down the lids loosely, explaining that the draclings could push their way out if need be.
They can burn their way out if need be, Kaeldra thought. She could only hope that they would choose to accept their confinement.
Now it was her turn. Kaeldra unwrapped Yanil’s blanket and held it out to him. “No,” he said. He placed it back on her shoulders. “You’ll be needin’ it far more than I.”
“Thank you.” Kaeldra ducked her head so that Yanil would not see the tears welling in her eyes. She climbed into the cask. There was no way to get comfortable. She hadn’t enough space to sit cross-legged and so had to draw her legs up tight against her. Even so, her feet—one booted, one bare—were jammed against the cask, bent at a painful angle.
“I wish I had a boot to lend you,” Yanil said. He grinned, but his thick, black eyebrows p
ulled together in concern. “Here.” He handed her a waterskin and a bulging cloth bundle that smelled of cheese.
“No, they’re yours,” Kaeldra said. “You’ve already been too kind.”
“Take them,” Yanil said gruffly. “I’ll be off before you’re aboard. I’ll tamp your lid loose so you can push out and stretch your legs when it’s safe. But take care, for there be many who seek you and mean you no good.” He reached into the cask and grasped her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said, blinking.
“Good luck to you now.” His voice was hoarse. Then the lid squeaked into place. She was alone.
She heard Yanil’s boots clump across the wharf, heard the groan of the cart as he got in. Then all was silent, save for the creak of ropes, the slap and growl of waves.
Kaeldra mind-touched the draclings and found them asleep. They liked small, dark places. Perhaps she need not worry. She tasted a chunk of cheese, herb cheese, the kind Ryfenn made at home. And all at once she was flooded with it. Home. The hum of Granmyr’s wheel. The milky smell of Lyf. Lambs prancing, stiff-legged, across a windswept graze.
The tears fell, then, salty, as if this farin sea were now a part of her.
Well, she didn’t care. She would return to Elythia whether she belonged there or not. She would cross this blighted sea to Kragrom, and thence to Rog. She would find this Landerath, leave the draclings in his care.
And then she would go home.
Kaeldra felt for the draclings again. Still sleeping. They were safe inside the casks for now; and she was safe, too, in the dark, unseen. She rested her forehead on her knees. Just for a moment, she let her eyes close.
An ear-splitting racket awoke her: shouting, rumbling, screeching, banging. All at once she was tumbled onto her side and rolled over and over. Her cask stopped with a crack. Something heavy slammed into it, another cask, Kaeldra thought. There was a shout nearby and a harsh creaking noise, and she felt herself rising, swinging in the air.
Kaeldra, remembering the big hook she had seen, tried to piece together what was happening. The hook could not attach to the cask, so there must be a net of some sort. She felt things thudding against her cask: other casks, no doubt. The creakings probably came from a winch. The sailors must have rolled her cask into a net and were winching it up onto the ship.
The cask swayed sickeningly, then lurched to one side. Kaeldra waited for the sense of being lowered gradually to the deck. Instead, she heard another shout and a whirring sound. Her stomach lunged upward while the rest of her dropped. She smacked down hard, banging her head against the lid. Sunlight blinded her. She groped for the lid but her eyes could not see and her legs felt numb. Her hand touched something—not a lid, too small, not flat enough. A boot.
“Well, well,” came a voice. “And what have we here?”
chapter 20
Whosoever shall Detain, Transport, and Relinquish Alive one Green-eyed Dragon girl, shall he Merit two-score Gold Croxains.
—Proclamation,
Lord Squamish of Regalch
Someone grabbed the back of Kaeldra’s tunic and hauled her to her feet. But her legs felt as if they were made of wood. When the hands let go, her legs tottered and collapsed; she sprawled facedown on the deck.
“Get up, you, or I’ll throw you overboard!”
Kaeldra saw the boot coming. She rolled away from it and, blinking against the light, struggled to her feet. Pain tingled in her toes and legs as the feeling flowed back.
“Stowing away, were you?” A stocky man with a full red beard gave her a shove. She stumbled and grabbed for a railing at the side of the ship. “No one stows on my ship. Now, git!”
The man pushed her along the railing toward a narrow plank, which slanted down to the wharf. Seamen tramped back and forth across it, lugging cargo into the ship. By now the pain in Kaeldra’s legs had nearly subsided. When there was a gap between the sailors, she stepped up onto the plank—and then remembered.
The draclings. They were still in their casks.
“Please, milord—” she began, but a scream cut her off. Something swooped past Kaeldra and circled the ship, screeching.
The kestrel. A seaman aimed a crossbow, and before Kaeldra could call out, the bolt was arcing up through the sky. Bird and bolt converged slowly, like dancers in the harvest circle, then met at last with a muted thunk. There was an explosion of feathers; a small, dark object plummeted into the sea.
Kaeldra dodged the man and fled to the far side of the ship. There, in the water, floated the kestrel. It lay on its back, wings askew, the bolt protruding from its breast. Kaeldra stared down at it, unbelieving, her hands gripping the wooden railing. Then someone jerked her away, and the red-bearded man was squinting at her. “Haven’t I seen you before?” he asked. He called over his shoulder, “Hey, Firth! Isn’t this—”
A skinny, gap-toothed sailor sprinted toward them. Suddenly he stopped, moved his hand in the sign-against-evil, and backed away. “Captain,” he whispered, “that there’s the girl we seen in Squamish’s hall. The dragon girl.”
The captain whistled. “Squamish would part with a handful of gold for her, I’ll wager.”
“Heard you not? ’E offers two-score croxains for her. ’E’s got a troop o’ men waitin’ for her to come out o’ the labyrinth, on the bluff just north o’ here.”
“And more scouring the countryside, just in case. On the other hand—” The captain eyed Kaeldra speculatively.
“Which ’and is that, Captain?”
“I’ll tell you, Firth. I hear King Urk’s got men looking for a green-eyed lass like this one. A dragon-sayer, I hear. Now how many green-eyed lassies could there be?” The captain did not wait for an answer. “I’d wager my ballast those wenches are one and the same. I’d wager my keel that Urk’ll pay a good bit more for her than Squamish will. What with the nasty business on Rog, this wench could be worth her weight in croxains.”
King Urk! Kaeldra shuddered. Tales of King Urk’s cruelty were fed to Elythian babies along with their mothers’ milk.
But Firth was shaking his head. “You ask me, she’d be worth her weight in trouble. We’d have to take her all the way to Kragrom. And the monsters—where are they? I hear tell them dragon-sayers can call ’em.”
“Don’t be such a squeak mouse. We’ll chain her below.”
The captain yanked Kaeldra toward a hatch hole in the deck. She gave him a swift kick in the shin with her booted foot and tried to break away, but the captain only laughed. “That trick may work on that fat quack Hokarth,” he said, “but it won’t work on me.”
He half carried, half dragged her down a ladder into the dark, chilly hold, then dropped her onto a pile of sodden rope. “This should hold you,” he said, clamping a manacle around her bare ankle. He slid a padlock through the hasp, snapped the lock shut and disappeared up the ladder.
Kaeldra tugged at the heavy iron chain that fastened the manacle to the mast. It held fast.
She was a prisoner.
The hold reeked of fish and brine and sour brew, but a draft of fresh air stirred her hair. Kaeldra looked up. Light trickled in through a square porthole above her head.
It was too small for her to fit through, even if she were not chained. But perhaps the draclings—
Where were the draclings? Kaeldra sought them with her thoughts. To her relief, she felt them nearby, somewhere in the hold. Thank the heavens their lids had held. 〈Stay,〉 she warned. 〈Stay where you are.〉
If only she had gone home when she’d had the chance. She was of no use to the draclings now that she was a prisoner and the kestrel . . . Kaeldra slumped down into the welter of rope, an aching in her chest.
Warily, she eyed the seamen who came and went through the hatch, bringing down casks and crates, baskets and bales. In the shadowed gloom of the hold, they looked like specters from the place-after-life of which Ryfenn often spoke, toting their burdens of sin. They regarded her with mild curiosity; Kaeldra guessed they had not been tol
d who she was. Once, Firth approached timorously, as though she could breathe fire. He flung down a water jug and a pail containing a hunk of bread, then fled up the ladder.
Kaeldra gnawed at the stone-hard bread. A chill seeped up from the damp ropes and soaked through her clothes. She longed for the blanket Yanil had given her. Her one remaining boot chafed her heel and calf; perhaps it had shrunk. She pulled it off. The ship swayed in the swelling of the sea, and Kaeldra felt the first qualms of sickness.
After a time, the loading sounds stopped. The hold was packed with cargo, except for narrow pathways that wound between the stacks of crates and casks, and the small open area near the mast where Kaeldra sat. Someone bolted the hatch. Kaeldra heard a rattle, felt a thud, and surmised that the anchor had been weighed. Before long, the floor began to pitch and tilt. The cargo strained against the lines that secured it; one cask escaped and rumbled back and forth across the forward hold. A rat skittered out from behind a bale of wool. A spider shivered across her hand.
Kaeldra clutched at the rope on which she sat. The movement of the ship made her dizzy. Her breath tasted sour; her stomach heaved. She crawled to the bucket and was sick. Then she dragged herself back to the rope pile and collapsed in a miserable heap.
There was a tingling in her mind. Kaeldra looked up. She thought she saw a narrow head poke up from a cask. There, was that another? Yes, three of them, three slender shadows stepping lightly through the hold. The draclings sidled up to her, thrumming.
〈I told you to stay. Stay! What if someone comes?〉 They flicked their tongues at her, then curled up beside her on the rope.
Kaeldra sighed. 〈I should know better by now.〉
* * *
Kaeldra was roused from a fitful slumber by voices. The draclings! They must not be seen! She jumped to her feet and instantly regretted it. Her head felt as if something had broken loose and was rolling around inside. Her stomach churned. The ship heaved suddenly, pitching her to the floor.
“You can’t do this!” someone was shouting. “I’m from the Sentinels at Rog!”
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