The copper was watching them anxiously. Suspiciously? How much could she really understand, Sedric chided his conscience? The hunter had said she was going to die anyway. Would it be better if she died slowly and her body sank to the bottom of the river for fish to eat? What good would that do anyone? After all he had gone through, didn’t he deserve something for himself, some small bit of happiness? Didn’t he deserve to finally stop living in deceit?

  He kept his eyes on the dragon as Jess edged towards her. She looked back at him. Her eyes swirled as always but darkness seemed mixed with their blue and gold now. He could feel her questioning him but not sense the fullness of her question. Did that mean she was dying? Was Jess telling the truth when he said it would be a mercy?

  She hung at a slant from the log, one front leg hooked over it. Here at the edge of the river under the trees, the current was not as strong. Beyond her, deeper in the forest, standing water carried shimmers of light into the perpetual gloom. He noted in passing from the high water marks on the tree trunks that the water was starting to recede. But it was not happening quickly, and he doubted it would be soon enough to save her. As he watched, she gave a few feeble kicks of her hind legs, trying to push herself a little higher on the log. She was wearying of holding her head so unnaturally high. She was hungry and thirsty and chilled. Dragons were creatures made for fierce sun and baking sand. The cool water sapped her energy and slowed her heart. He was not imagining it. Her eyes were spinning more slowly. She had never been strong nor healthy. He looked at her and the welling of sorrow he felt ambushed him. He blinked his eyes and saw her through the opacity of tears.

  You are leaving me?

  Her childish interpretation of his reaction to their pending separation tore at his heart. He tried to take a breath only to have it snag on something sharp inside him. Little copper queen. I wish you could have flown.

  I have wings! The weary dragon cocked her head at him. Very slowly, she lifted her wings and opened them partially. They caught the light like hammered metal. They were larger than he would have supposed them, and more delicate. The spider web framework stood out against the leathery membrane and feathery scales. The afternoon light shone through them as if they were panes of stained glass.

  ‘They are beautiful.’ He spoke the words aloud, sorrowfully, and felt her bask in the compliment.

  ‘Beautiful is right. And the leather from them will last hundreds of years, according to the tales. But they’re too big for us to harvest. They’d rot before we got down the river.’ Jess was edging towards her on a fallen tree. Branches covered in leaves were both impediments and handholds for him as he sidled along it. He halted where he was, and laughed aloud at Sedric’s scowl. ‘Don’t glare at me. You know it’s true. Keep her calm. All the debris has been loosened by her struggling, so the pack isn’t as sturdy here. I don’t want her to knock me into the water and have it close up over my head.’ He grunted as he worked his way cautiously along the floating tree.

  He paused a man’s length away from her. He was watching the dragon, not Sedric. He knew Sedric had no choice but to help him. ‘When I get closer, tell her to extend her head towards me. I’ll get a rope around her neck and then I’ll try to lead her in close to one of the big trees. As long as she’s afloat and doesn’t fight me, I should be able to get her where I want her.’

  He knew he couldn’t save her. She was going to die. If Jess succeeded, at least her death would be quick. And it would serve a purpose. At least one of them could go on to live a decent life. The hunter would make it quick. He’d said so.

  Danger? Relpda was watching Jess make his final approach. What was she sensing from him?

  The hunter had nearly reached her. He balanced at the thick end of the fallen tree, just short of the upthrust of muddy roots that ended it. He was shaking out the rope, and eying the dragon as he did so. Sedric marked that he still gripped the fish spear in one hand as he worked. His darting glance went from the dragon to Sedric and back again as he studied her neck and measured out line. ‘Keep her calm, now,’ he reminded Sedric. ‘There’s not a lot of line here. Once I get the rope around her neck, I’m going to have to snub her up pretty close to the tree. But that will keep her head above the water afterwards.’

  It wasn’t something he was doing. He was here, but he couldn’t stop it from happening. If he tried to intervene, Jess was capable of killing him as well. And what good would that do the dragon? It was her inevitable end. He watched it, feeling that he owed her that much, to witness her end. I’m sorry, he thought at her, and received only confusion in response.

  ‘Okay, I’m ready.’ Jess was holding out a large loop of line. He had the fish spear trapped under his arm as he held the noose to one side of his body. ‘Tell her to reach her head out towards me. Slowly. Tell her I’m going to help her.’

  Sedric took a deep breath. His throat kept closing up. Give in to the inevitable, he counselled himself. ‘Relpda,’ Sedric said softly. ‘Listen to me, now. Listen carefully.’

  Day the 19th of the Prayer Moon

  Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

  From Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown

  to Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug

  Enclosed, a message from Trader Wycof to the First Mate Jos Peerson of the liveship Ophelia, soon to dock at Trehaug, informing him of the birth of twin daughters to his wife on this day.

  Detozi,

  An illness in my family has forced me to postpone all thoughts of leaving Bingtown at this time. My father is seriously ill. I fear that my hopes of visiting the Rain Wilds and finally meeting you must be put off for the time being. I am disappointed.

  Have you yourself ever considered a visit to Bingtown? I am sure your nephew would be very pleased by such a visit.

  Erek

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rescue

  Night had been every bit as miserable as Thymara had feared it would be. The keepers had banded together to build a sort of platform, layering drift logs in alternating angles on top of each other. Leafy branches were torn down to provide cushioning over the bumpy logs. The resulting ‘raft’ had not been sturdy, but there had been room for them to huddle together and commiserate while the mosquitoes and gnats feasted on them. There was no flat place to sleep, so Thymara had balanced her body on one of the wider logs. She had considered taking to the trees for the night, but had finally decided to stay closer to the dragons and the other keepers. Every time she started to doze off, Alum’s dragon would trumpet mournfully and she’d rouse. Too many times that night, tears had followed. The small sounds she heard from the others on the raft told her that she was not alone in her fears. Towards morning, not even the sorrow and sounds, let alone the buzzing, bites and branch nubs could keep Thymara alert any longer. She had dozed down past the nightmares and grief to a deep sleep and had awakened chill and stiff and damp with morning dew. The flooding was subsiding slowly. The high water line on the nearby tree trunks was now shoulder-high on her. Next to her, Alise slept deeply, curled in a ball. Tats was just beyond her, breathing huskily. Jerd, she noted, slept tucked into the curve of Greft’s body. For a moment, she envied them the warmth they shared and then dismissed the thought. That wasn’t for her. Boxter and Nortel were perched on the edge of the platform, staring out at the flooded forest and talking softly. The dragons were hunched on their log perches. They looked uncomfortable and precarious, but they were sleeping heavily. The chill of the water and the deep shade of the trees had plunged them into deep lethargy. They probably wouldn’t stir until mid-morning, or later.

  Thymara nudged Sylve and whispered, ‘I’m going to see if I can find us some food,’ and then picked her way through her sleeping comrades. Log by log, she clambered over the pack of floating debris to the closest major tree trunk. It had no branches within reach but her claws served her well as she scaled it. It was strange how good it felt to be back in the trees again. Safer. She might still be hungry, thirsty and insect-bitten, but the trees had always befriended and sheltered her.

  She had not gone far when the forest rewarded her for her efforts. She found a trumpet vine, and drank the nectary water from the blossoms with only a small twinge of guilt. She had no way to carry the meagre mouthful that each flower offered her. She’d drink now, renew her own strength, and hope she’d find something she could transport back to her friends. There was not really enough liquid to quench her thirst, but at least her tongue no longer felt like leather. When she had emptied every flower, she climbed on.

  The exertion required a different use of her arms and shoulders than she had become accustomed to, and soon the injury on her back began to leak fluid again. It did not hurt as much as it had, though she could feel the skin pull every time she reached for a new handhold. The tickle of liquid down her spine was distracting and annoying, but there was nothing she could do about it. Twice she saw birds that would have been easy prey for her if she’d had a bow, and once she hastily dropped down to a lower limb and changed trees when she came across a large constrictor snake who lifted his head and eyed her with interest. At that moment, she decided that her decision to sleep on the raft instead of in the trees had been a good one.

  She was looking for a good horizontal branch to allow her to cross to another tree when she encountered Nortel. He was sitting on the branch that was her chosen path, and from the way he greeted her, she suspected he’d seen her and watched her progress down the trunk.

  ‘Find anything to eat?’ he asked her.

  ‘Not yet. I got some water from a trumpet vine, but I haven’t found any fruit or nuts yet.’

  He nodded slowly, then asked her, ‘Are you alone?’

  She shrugged and wondered why his question made her uncomfortable. ‘Yes. Everyone else was asleep.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Well, you were talking to Boxter. And I like to hunt and forage alone. I always have.’ She took another step towards him, but he made no sign of moving to allow her to pass him on the branch. It was wide enough that he could easily have moved to one side. Instead, he remained perched where he was, looking up at her. She didn’t know Nortel well; she’d never realized his eyes were green. He was not as scaled as most of the other boys, and what he did have, around his eyes, was very fine. When he blinked, his lashes caught the light and sparked silver at her.

  After a long moment, he said, ‘I’m sorry about Rapskal. I know you two were close.’

  She looked away from him. She was trying not to think of Rapskal and Heeby and whether they had died quickly or struggled for a long time in the water. ‘I’ll miss him,’ she said. Her voice went thick and tight on the words. ‘But today is today, and I need to see what food I can find. May I get past you, please?’

  ‘Oh. Of course.’ Instead of just sliding to one side, he stood up. He was taller than she was. He turned sideways on the branch and motioned that she should edge past him. She hesitated. Was there a challenge in how he stood there or was she imagining it?

  She decided she was being silly. She edged past him, sliding her feet and facing him as she did so. She was halfway past him when he shifted slightly. She dug her toenails into the bark of the branch and hissed in alarm. He immediately caught her by the arms and held her facing him. His grip on her arms was firm and she was closer to him than she wanted to be. ‘I wouldn’t let you fall,’ he promised her, his face solemn. His green eyes bored down into hers.

  ‘I wasn’t about to fall. Let go.’

  He didn’t. They were frozen in a tableau, looking at one another. A struggle would almost certainly mean that one or both of them would fall. The smile on his face was warm, the look in his eyes inviting.

  ‘I’m getting angry. Let go now.’

  The warmth faded from his eyes and he granted her request. But he slid his hand down her arm before he lifted it away. She hopped past him, resisting the urge to give him a slight shove as she did so.

  ‘I didn’t mean to make you angry,’ he said. ‘It’s just… well, Rapskal is gone. And I know you’re alone now. So am I.’

  ‘I’ve always been alone,’ she told him furiously and then strode off along the branch. She wasn’t fleeing she reminded herself, only leaving him behind. When she reached the next trunk, she went up it more quickly than a lizard and refused to look back to see if he was watching her climb. Instead, she concentrated on climbing higher, heading for the upper reaches of the canopy where more sunlight increased the chances of finding fruit.

  Fortune favoured her. She found a bread leaf vine parasitizing a handprint tree. The fat yellow leaves didn’t offer much flavour, but they were filling and crisp with moisture as well. For a time, she perched and ate her fill, then tore several trailing strings of leaves from it. She wound the vines into a loose wreath and put them around her neck hanging down her back.

  She started back down, and on the way saw a sour pear tree only a few trunks away. She crossed to it. The fruit was past its prime and slightly wrinkly, but she doubted her friends would be fussy. With no other way to carry it, she filled the front of her shirt and then went more slowly, trying to avoid crushing the food she carried. When she reached the tree by the river’s edge and climbed down to the flotsam raft, she was surprised to find that many of the keepers were still sleeping. Tats was awake; he and Greft were trying to kindle a small fire at the root end of one of the big snags. A thin tendril of smoke wound up into the morning air. As she approached, she saw Sylve and Harrikin crouched at the edge of the packed driftwood. She watched as Sylve reached out with a long stick and then dragged something closer. It wasn’t until she was near that she realized they were pulling dead fish from the river. Harrikin was cleaning them, sticking a claw in each belly, slitting it open and scooping out the guts before adding it to the row of fish beside him.

  ‘Where are the dragons?’ she called anxiously to them.

  Sylve turned to her and gave her a weary smile. ‘There you are! I thought I’d dreamed you telling me you were going hunting, but then you were gone when I woke all the way. The acid run killed a lot of fish and other creatures. The dragons have moved upriver. They’ve discovered an eddy full of carrion and are eating their fill. I’m glad there’s something for them. They’re tired from treading water and so much swimming, but at least they won’t be hungry after this. Even Mercor was beginning to be bad-tempered, and I was afraid a couple of the bigger males were going to fight this morning.’

  ‘Did Sintara go with them?’

  ‘They all went, each more jealous than the next, to be sure of getting a fair share. What did you bring?’

  ‘Bread leaf and sour pear. My shirt is full of sour pear. I couldn’t think of any other way to carry them.’

  Sylve laughed. ‘We’ll be glad to have them, no matter how you got them here. Greft and Tats are trying to get enough of a fire going that we can cook the fish. If it doesn’t work, I suppose raw will have to do.’

  ‘Better than nothing, certainly’

  Harrikin had been quiet through their conversation. He was never much of a talker. The first time she had seen him, he had reminded her of a lizard. He was long and slender, and much older than Sylve, but she seemed very comfortable with him. Thymara had not realized that he, too, had claws, until she watched him using them. He looked up from his task, caught her eyes on his hands, and nodded an acknowledgment to her.

  A little silence fell over the group. Unanswered questions were answered by it. No one spoke of Rapskal, and in the distance, she heard Alum’s dragon give a long, anxious cry. Arbuc still called for his missing keeper. Warken’s red dragon Baliper held his mourning silence. Nothing had changed. The remaining keepers were still marooned on a raft of floating debris. Nothing had changed. Thymara wondered in passing what would become of them if their dragons abandoned them here. Would they? Did the dragons need them any longer? What if they decided to travel on without them?

  She looked up to see Tats coming towards them and wondered if she looked as bad as he did. His skin was scalded red from the river water, and his hair stuck up in tufts. The water had attacked his clothing as well, mottling the already-worn shirt and trousers. He looked haggard, but still managed to put on a smile for her. ‘What are you wearing?’ he asked her.

  ‘Our breakfast. Bread leaf and sour pear. Looks like you have a fire going for the fish.’

  He glanced back to the little blaze that Greft tended. Jerd had come from somewhere to join him. She leaned against him quietly as he broke dry bits of root from the end of the snag and fed it to the small fire he’d kindled in the main nest of roots. ‘It wasn’t easy to get it going. And the fear is that if we succeed too well, it may spread to the rest of the debris pack and send us fleeing again. We don’t have much security here, but at least we’re still afloat.’

  ‘And the water is going down. But if we must, we could take to the trees. Here. Hold your shirt out.’

  Tats lifted the front of his shirt to form a sling, and Thymara reached down her own shirt front to extract the sour pears she had carried inside her shirt against her belly. The wrinkled fruit were no relation to true pears but she had heard that the flavour was similar. When she had emptied her shirt into his, she followed him back to Greft’s fire. She feared there would be awkwardness when she got there, comments or mockery, but Jerd only turned away from her while Greft said simply, ‘Thanks. Any chance of more?’