someone was unusual behaviour for Hest. He had other ways of expressing his domination and control. Sarcasm and humiliation were more commonly his weapons. Physical force was his last resort, and it meant that his temper had reached a red hot heat.
But his current anger was different. It was cold. In the days after he’d ordered Sedric to accompany Alise on her expedition, Hest had been formal and chilly with Sedric. He’d smiled at him each morning as he handed him a long list of tasks. He treated him in an absolutely correct, master-to-servant fashion. Every evening, he listened to Sedric report how his tasks had gone. He didn’t seem to care that he’d given Sedric the responsibility for Alise’s journey. He’d expected him to fulfil his regular chores as well.
Thus Sedric had been the one to arrange passage for Hest and Wollom Courser and Jaff Secudus on a ship bound for the Pirate Isles. At the last minute, with great deliberation and a cruel smile, he’d had Sedric write an invitation to Redding Cope as well. The joyous acceptance had arrived less than an hour after the post was sent. Hest had had Sedric read it aloud to him, and then had pleasantly commented how enjoyable a companion Redding Cope was, so affable and full of enthusiasm for any new adventure.
The next afternoon, they had departed. Cope had waved a cheerful farewell to Sedric as the ship slowly moved away from the dock. This was Hest’s first venture at making trading contacts in the formerly dangerous Pirate Islands. It was also a journey that he and Sedric had been discussing for nearly a year. Hest well knew how Sedric had anticipated such a trip. And he’d not only chosen other companions for it, he’d directed Sedric to book his passage on a ship that offered its passengers every comfort that a civilized man could cherish. While Sedric listened to men snore and fart in the darkness around him, Hest and his friends were probably sipping good port in a softly lit card parlour on the southbound ship. Sedric shifted uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. Then he worried that the tickling had been a bed bug. Or a louse. He felt his neck but his fingers encountered nothing. Then he surprised himself by yawning.
Well, he was exhausted. Alise had seen to that. He’d packed all their possessions hastily, and then arranged porters and then they had all but run from the Paragon to the Tarman. He’d barely glimpsed the fabled treetop city of Trehaug, let alone had time to wander through any of its bazaars. Trehaug was the prime city in all the Cursed Shores for a trader to find Elderling goods at a reasonable price, and he’d had to race past it without even a glance because Alise feared she wouldn’t get to see her smelly, deformed dragons.
He yawned again in the darkness and resolutely closed his eyes. He would get what sleep he could in such foul conditions, and try to face the morrow with good graces. If all went well, he’d be with Alise when she wangled an invitation to visit the dragons and attempted to speak with them. She’d as much as said that she’d want him right there, to transcribe conversation and make notes and even to help with the sketches she planned to do. He’d be right there, among them, helping her collect her information. If fortune favoured him, that wouldn’t be all he’d be collecting. He hugged himself in the dark, and then gingerly pulled the blanket over himself. Nights were chill on the river, he decided, even in summer. Nights were as cold as Hest himself. But he’d show Hest. He’d show him that he didn’t plan to live his life as only Hest’s secretary. He’d show him that Sedric Meldar could do some bartering of his own, that he did have ambitions and dreams of his own. He’d show them all.
Thymara sat on bare earth and stared at the flames of the cook-fire. ‘Did any of us think we’d be doing this, a month ago? Preparing to meet dragons and escort them up the river? Or even imagine this, sitting around a fire down here on the ground?’ she asked of her new circle of friends.
‘Not me,’ muttered Tats, always at her side. Several of the others laughed in assent. Greft, seated to her right, just shook his head. His dark ringlets danced, as did the fleshy growths that fringed his jaw. When he had first joined their group, he’d been veiled. No one had commented. It wasn’t uncommon for heavily-touched men or women of the Rain Wilds to prefer a veil, especially if they were in the lower levels of Trehaug and might encounter the shocked gapes of someone strange to the city. When, on his second night with the dragon keepers, he’d finally appeared among them unveiled, even Thymara had stared. Greft was more heavily marked than anyone she’d ever seen. At twenty, he had more wattles and growths than she seen even on the oldest folk of the Rain Wilds. The nails of his hands and feet were smooth but iridescent and they curved like claws. His eyes were an unnatural blue and at night they unmistakably glowed. Every part of his exposed skin was heavily scaled. His mouth was lipless and his tongue was blue. He moved with quiet competence, and his maturity and steadiness were attractive to her. In contrast to the boys in the group, he seemed reliable and more thoughtful.
Tonight Greft was just as quiet as the rest of them. Anticipation warred with nervousness. Another day’s travel and they’d finally meet the dragons.
The committee had provided them with sturdy canoes, well sealed against the river’s acid wash. They’d given them two guides, a man and woman who always cooked, ate and slept separately from their charges. So far, food had been provided for them, and some few of the keepers had even found time to try their skills at hunting or scouting for fruit and mushrooms along their journey’s path. But they had discovered that their blankets were barely warm enough for sleeping on the ground, and that the mosquitoes and stinging gnats were just as thick at river level as they’d always been told. They’d learned that down here under the trees, nights were darker, starless and longer than any they’d known in the treetops. They’d already learned to conserve potable water and to gather fresh rainfall at every opportunity. They’d exchanged names and stories.
And somehow, in the few days that they’d been together, they’d become close.
Now Thymara looked around at the circle of faces gleaming in the firelight and wondered at her good fortune. She’d never imagined that there would be so many people who would call her by her name, take food from her hands without flinching at her claws, and speak openly of what it was to be so deformed by the Rain Wilds that not even one’s siblings could look at one easily. They’d come from every layer of the canopy, from Trader families and families that scarcely recalled which Trader bloodline they’d originally sprung from. Some had lived hardscrabble lives and others had known education and meals of red meat and redder wine. She looked from face to face and named them to herself, counting them off as if they were jewels in a treasure box. Her friends.
There was Tats beside her, her oldest friend and still her closest. Next to him was Rapskal, still chortling at some joke he’d made himself, and beside him, shaking her head at the boy’s endless and unfounded optimism, was Sylve. The young girl almost seemed to be enjoying his attention and endless chatter. Kase and Boxter were next, both copper-eyed and squat. They were cousins and the resemblance was strong. They were inseparable, often nudging each other and laughing uproariously over private jokes.
That was something she was discovering about the boys her age. The pranking and foolish jokes seemed constant. Right now, silver-eyed Alum and swarthy Nortel were laughing helplessly because Warken had farted loudly. Warken, long-limbed and tall, seemed to be relishing the mockery rather than being offended by it. Thymara shook her head over that; it made no sense to her that boys found such things so funny, and yet their sniggering brought a smile to her face. Jerd, sitting among the boys, was grinning, too. Thymara did not know Jerd well yet, but already admired her skills at fishing. She had at first been shocked when she realized Jerd was female. Nothing about her solidly built frame suggested it. What hair she had on her scaled skull she had cut into a short blond brush. Both Thymara and Sylve had tried to befriend Jerd, and she had been affable enough, but seemed to prefer male company. Her feet and solidly-muscled legs were heavily scaled and scarred. Jerd went barefoot, something that few Rain Wilders would ever consider doing on the ground.
Next to Jerd were Harrikin and Lecter. They were not related, but Harrikin’s family had taken Lecter in when he was seven and
