Ship of Destiny (42 page)

He had been plunged into the world of ships and sailing against his will. He had never truly embraced it, or accepted all it might offer him. He looked back now, and saw a pattern of resistance in all he had done. He had set his will against his father, battled Torg simply to survive, and resisted the ship’s efforts to bond with him. He had allied with the slaves, but kept his guard up against them as soon as they became freed men. When Kennit came aboard, he had resolved to maintain his claim upon Vivacia despite the pirate’s efforts to win her. And all the while he had simmered in self-pity. He had longed for his monastery and promised himself that at the first opportunity he would become that Wintrow again. Even after he had resolved to accept the life Sa had given him and find purpose in it, even then he had held back.

Layer upon layer of self-deceit, he now saw, layer upon layer of resistance to Sa’s will. He had not embraced his own destiny. He had grudgingly accepted it, taking only what was forced upon him and welcoming only what he found acceptable, rather than encompassing all in his priesthood.

Something. Something there, an idea, an illumination trembling at the edge of his mind. A revelation waiting to unfold. He let the focus of his eyes soften, and his breathing eased into a deeper, slower rhythm.

Etta set aside her sewing. She gathered the game pieces and returned them to their box. “I think we have finished with games for a time,” she said quietly.

He nodded. His thoughts claimed him, and he scarcely noticed when she left the room.

SHE WHO REMEMBERS RECOGNIZED HIM. THE TWO-LEGS
Wintrow stood on the ship’s deck and looked down at the serpents who gamboled alongside in the moonlight. She was surprised he had lived. When she had nudged him aboard the ship, she had intended only that he die among his own kind. So he had survived. When he set his hands on the ship’s railing, She Who Remembers sensed Bolt’s reaction. It was not a physical shaking, but a trembling of her being. A faint scent of fear tinged the water. Bolt feared this two-legs?

Mystified, the serpent drew closer. Bolt had begun as a dragon; that much She Who Remembers recognized. But no matter how vigorously Bolt might deny it, she was no longer a dragon nor was she a serpent. She was a hybrid, her human sensibilities blending with her dragon essence, and all encompassed in her ship form. She Who Remembers dived beneath the water, and aligned herself with the ship’s silvery keel. Here she could feel most strongly the dragon’s presence. Almost immediately, she sensed that the ship did not wish her to be there but She Who Remembers felt no compunction about remaining. Her duty was to the tangle of serpents she had awakened. If the ship were a danger to them, she would discover it.

She was only mildly surprised when Maulkin the Gold joined her there. He did not bother to hide his intentions. “I will know more,” he told her. A slight lifting of his ruff indicated the ship they paced. “She tells us to be patient, that she is here to protect us and guide us home. She seems to know much of what has happened in the years since dragons filled the skies, but I sense that she withholds as much as she tells us. All my memories tell me that we should have entered the river in spring. Winter snaps at us now, and still she counsels us to wait. Why?”

She admired his forthrightness. He did not care that the ship knew his reservations about trusting her. She Who Remembers preferred to be subtler. “We must wait and discover that. For now, she has the alliance of the two-legs. She claims that when the time is right, she will use them to help us. But why, then, does she tremble at the very presence of this one?”

The ship gave no sign that she was aware of their submerged conversation. She Who Remembers tasted a subtle change in the water that flowed past. Anger, now, as well as fear. Deprived of the proper shape of her body, her frustrated flesh still attempted to manufacture the venoms of her emotions. She Who Remembers worked her poison sacs. There was little there to draw on; it took time for her body to replenish itself. Still, she gaped her jaws wide, taking in Bolt’s faint venom, and then replied with her own. She adjusted herself to the ship, to be better able to perceive her.

Above them, the two-legs gripped the ship’s railing. In essence, he laid hands on the dragon’s own body. She Who Remembers felt the ship’s shiver of reaction, and the complete transfer of her attention.

“Good evening, Vivacia.” The sound of Wintrow’s voice was muted by water and distance, but his touch on the railing amplified the sense of his words. It carried through the ship’s bones to She Who Remembers.
I know you
said his touch. In the naming of the name that Bolt disdained, he claimed a part of her. And justly so, She Who Remembers decided, despite the ship’s resistance to him.

“Go away, Wintrow.”

“I could, but it would do no good. Do you know what I’ve been doing, Vivacia? I’ve been meditating. Reaching into myself. Do you know what I discovered?”

“Your beating heart?” With callous cruelty, the ship touched him. She Who Remembers felt the clench of the boy’s hands tighten as his heart skipped in its rhythm.

“Don’t,” he begged her convulsively. “Please,” he added. Reluctantly, the ship let him be. Wintrow clung to the railing. When his breathing steadied, he said quietly, “You
know
what I found when I looked within myself. I found you. Twined through me, flesh and soul. Ship, we are one, and we cannot deceive one another. I know you, and you know me. Neither of us are what we have claimed to be.”

“I can kill you,” the ship snarled at him.

“I know. But that would not rid you of me. If you kill me, I still remain a part of you. I believe you know that also. You seek to drive me away, ship, but I do not think I could go so far that the bond would be severed. It would only make both of us miserable.”

“I am willing to take that chance.”

“I am not,” Wintrow replied mildly. “I propose another solution. Let us accept what we have become, and admit all parts of ourselves. If you will stop denying the humanity in you, I will accept the serpent and the dragon in myself. In our self,” he amended thoughtfully.

Silence passed with the purling water. Something slowly built inside the ship, like venom welling in a serpent’s spiked mane. But when she spoke, she spilled bitterness like an abscess breaking. “A fine time to offer this, Wintrow Vestrit. A fine time.”

She struck him down like a dragon flicking away an annoying gorecrow. The two-legs fell flat to her deck. Drops of his blood leaked from his nostrils and dripped onto her planking. Though the ship roared defiantly, her planking soaked up the red stuff and took him into herself.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        
TINTAGLIA’S BARGAIN

REYN TOOK A DEEP, GASPING BREATH OF AIR AND OPENED HIS
eyes to darkness. He’d dreamed of the dragon, trapped in her coffin. The dream still had the power to make his heart thunder and his body break into a sweat. He lay still, panting and cursing the creature and the memories she had left him. He should try to go back to sleep. It would be his watch soon, and he would regret the sleep he had lost to the nightmare. He held his breath and listened to Grag’s deep snore and Selden’s lighter breathing. He turned restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable place in the sweaty sheets. He was grateful to have a bed to himself; many others were sharing. For the past few days, the Tenira household had been swollen with other folk so that it now encompassed a cross section of Bingtown’s population.

The fledgling alliance of Old and New Traders, slaves and Three Ships folk had nearly died hatching. The same group that had gathered at the Tenira table, with the addition of several New Trader representatives, had boldly arrived at Restart mansion and demanded entrance. Their spies had already watched the remaining heads of the Bingtown Council enter. A number of Roed’s more rabid followers had assembled as well; Reyn had wondered if they were not plunging their heads into a noose. But Serilla had appeared calm as she came to the entrance. Roed Caern stood glowering just behind her left shoulder. Despite his scowls and muttered complaints, the Companion had graciously invited them all to enter and join in an “informal discussion of Bingtown’s situation.” But as they had gathered uneasily at the bargaining table, trumpets and alarm bells had sounded in the city below. Reyn had feared treachery as they rushed outside. A rooftop sentry had shouted that a flotilla of Chalcedean ships was approaching Bingtown Harbor. Roed Caern had drawn a blade, shouting that the New Traders had invaded this meeting in the hopes of dispatching all of Bingtown’s rightful leadership at once while their Chalcedean allies made their attack. Like rabid dogs, he and his followers had flown at the New Trader emissaries. Knives that all had promised not to bring were suddenly flourished.

The first blood of the current Chalcedean attack had been spilled there on Restart’s doorstep. To their credit, the heads of the Traders’ Council had opposed Roed and kept him and his men from massacring the Three Ships, Tattooed and New Trader delegates. The meeting dispersed as folk fled Roed’s madness and scrambled to protect their own houses and families from the invaders. That had been three days ago.

The Chalcedeans had arrived, thick as grunion spawning on a beach. Sailing ships and oared galleys took over the harbor and spilled warriors onto the beaches and wharves. Their might had overwhelmed the disorganized Bingtown folk, and they had captured the
Kendry.
A prize crew sailed him out of the harbor. The ship had gone unwillingly, wallowing and fighting as small boats manned by Chalcedean sailors towed him out. Beyond that, Reyn had no knowledge of the fate of the ship or its crew. He wondered if they could force Kendry to take them up the river to Trehaug. Had they kept his family crew alive to use as hostages against the liveship?

The Chalcedeans now held the harbor and the surrounding buildings, clutching the heart of Bingtown in their greedy hands. Every day, they pushed farther inland, systematically looting and then destroying what they could not carry off. Reyn had never seen such destruction. Certain key structures, warehouses for storing their plunder, defensible buildings of stone, they left intact. But all the rest, they laid waste. Old Trader, New Trader, fisherman, peddler, whore or slave: it mattered not to the Chalcedeans. They killed and stole without discrimination. The long row of Three Ships dwellings had all been burned, their little fishing vessels destroyed and the people killed or driven away to take refuge with their neighbors. The Chalcedeans showed no interest in negotiating. There could be no surrender. Captives were put into chains and held in one of the sailing ships, to be carried off to new lives as slaves in Chalced. If the invaders had ever had allies among the Bingtown folk, they betrayed them. No one was immune to their destruction.

“They plan to stay.” Grag’s deep voice was soft but clear. “After they’ve killed or enslaved everyone in Bingtown, the Chalcedeans will settle here, and Bingtown Bay will be just another part of Chalced.”

“Did I wake you, tossing about?” Reyn asked quietly.

“Not really. I can’t find true sleep. I’m so tired of the waiting. I know that we needed to organize our resistance, but it has been hard to watch all the destruction in the meantime. Now that the day is finally here, each moment drags, and yet I wish we had more time to prepare. I wish Mother and the girls would flee to the mountains. Perhaps they could hide there until all this is over.”

“Over in what way?” Reyn asked sourly. “I know we must have heart for this foray, but I cannot believe we will succeed. If we drive them from our beaches, they will simply retreat to their ships and then launch another attack. While they control the harbor, they control Bingtown. Without trade, how can we survive?”

“I don’t know. There has to be some hope,” Grag insisted stubbornly. “At least this mess has brought us together. The whole population now has to see that we will survive only if we stand together.”

Reyn tried to sound positive but failed. “There is hope, but it is faint. If our liveships returned and boxed them into the harbor, I think all Bingtown would rally then. If we had a way to catch them between the beach and the harbor mouth, we could kill them all.”

Worry crept into Grag’s voice. “I wish we knew where our ships are, or at least how many still float. I suspect that the Chalcedeans lured our ships away. They ran and we chased them, possibly out to where a much greater force could destroy us. How could we have been so stupid?”

“We are merchants, not warriors,” Reyn replied. “Our greatest strength is also our greatest weakness. All we know how to do is negotiate, and our enemies are not interested in that.”

Grag made a sound between a sigh and a groan. “I should have been on board
Ophelia
that day. I should have gone with them. It is agony to wait and hope, not knowing what has become of my father and our ship.”

Reyn was quiet. He was too aware of how the knife-edge of uncertainty could score a man’s soul. He would not insult Grag by saying that he knew what he was feeling. Every man’s pain was personalized. Instead, he offered, “We’re both awake. We may as well get up. Let’s go talk in the kitchen, so we don’t wake Selden.”

“Selden is awake,” the boy said quietly. He sat up. “I’ve decided. I’m going with you today. I’m going to fight.”

“No.” Reyn forbade it quickly, then tempered his words. “I don’t think that is wise, Selden. Your position is unusual. You may be the last heir to your family name. You should not risk your life.”

“The risk would be if I cowered here and did nothing,” Selden returned bitterly. “Reyn. Please. When I am with my mother and my grandmother, they mean well, but they make me . . . young. How am I to learn to be a man, if I am never among men? I need to go with you today.”

“Selden, if you go with us, you may not grow up to be a man,” Grag cautioned him. “Stay here. Protect your mother and grandmother. That is where you can best serve Bingtown. And it is your duty.”

“Don’t patronize me,” the boy returned sharply. “If the fighting reaches this house, we will all be slaughtered, because by the time it gets here, you will all be dead. I’m going with you. I know that you think that I’ll be in your way, someone you have to protect. But it won’t be like that. I promise you.”

Grag took a breath to object, but Reyn interrupted them both. “Let’s go down to the kitchen and discuss it there. I could use some coffee.”

“You won’t get it,” Grag told him grumpily. Reyn saw his effort to change his mood. “But there is tea, still.”

They were not the only restless ones. The kitchen fire had been poked to life and a large kettle of porridge was already simmering. Not only Grag’s mother and sister but also the Vestrit women moved restlessly about the big room in mimicry of cooking. There was not enough work to busy them. A low mutter of voices came from the dining hall. As food was prepared, trays were borne off to the table. Ekke Kelter was there as well. She offered Grag Tenira a warm smile with the cup of tea she poured for him, then seated herself across the kitchen table from him and said matter-of-factly, “The arsonists have already gone. They wanted to be certain they’d be in position before the attack.”

Reyn’s heart give an odd little hitch. Suddenly, it was real. Smoke and flame rising from the Drur family warehouse by the docks was to be the signal for all the waiting attackers. Daring spies, mostly slave boys, had established that the Chalcedeans had amassed their loot there. Surely, they would return to fight a fire. Bingtown would burn its stolen wealth to draw the Chalcedeans to a central location. Once that fire was burning, they would attempt to set the Chalcedean ships ablaze with flaming arrows. A team of Three Ships men, their bodies well-greased against the cold waters, would swim out to the Chalcedean ships and slip some anchor chains as well.

The various Bingtown groups had planned this diversion to disorganize the invaders before they made a massed dawn attack. Each man had armed himself as best he could. Ancient family swords would be wielded alongside clubs and butcher knives, fish bats and sickles. Merchants and fishermen, gardeners and kitchen slaves would all turn the tools of their trades to war today. Reyn squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. Bad enough to die; did they have to be so pathetically ill-equipped as they did so? Reyn poured himself a hot cup of tea, and silently wished well to all the grim saboteurs slipping quietly through the chill and rainy night.

Selden, seated beside him, suddenly gripped his wrist hard under the table. When he looked at the boy questioningly, a strangely grim smile lit his face. “I feel it,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t you?”

“It’s natural to be afraid,” he comforted the boy quietly. Selden only shook his head and released his grip on Reyn. Reyn’s heart sank. Malta’s little brother had been through far too much for a boy of his years. It had affected his mind.

Ronica Vestrit brought fresh bread to the table. The old woman had braided her graying hair and pinned it tightly to her head. As he thanked Ronica, his own mother entered the room. She was not veiled. Neither of the Rain Wilders had covered their faces since the day Reyn had removed his veil at the Council table. If all were to be a part of this new Bingtown, then let all meet eyes squarely. Were his scaling, growths and gleaming copper eyes all that different from the tattoos that sprawled across the slaves’ faces? His mother, too, had confined her hair in securely pinned braids. She wore trousers rather than her customary flowing skirts. In response to his puzzled glance, she said only, “I won’t be hampered by skirts when we attack.”

He stared at her, waiting for her smile to make her words a jest. But she didn’t smile. She only said quietly, “There was no point in discussing it. We knew you would all be opposed. It is time the men of Bingtown remember that when we first came here, women and children risked just as much as their men did. We all fight today, Reyn. Better to die in battle than live as slaves after our men have died trying to protect us.”

Grag spoke with a sickly smile. “Well, that’s optimistic.” His eyes studied his mother for an instant. “You, too?”

“Of course. Did you think I was fit only to cook for you, and then send you out to die?” Naria Tenira offered the bitter words as she set a steaming apple pie on the table. Her next words were softer. “I made this for you, Grag. I know it’s your favorite. There is meat and ale and cheese set out in the dining hall, if you’d rather. Those who went out before you wanted a hearty meal against the cold.”

It might be their last meal together. If the Chalcedeans did overrun them today, they would find the larder empty. There was no point in holding anything back anymore, whether food or beloved lives. Despite the hovering of destruction, or perhaps because of it, the warm baked fruit, redolent of honey and cinnamon, had never smelled so good to Reyn. Grag cut slices with a generous hand. Reyn set the first piece of the warm pie before Selden and accepted another for himself. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He could think of nothing else to say.

AS TINTAGLIA CIRCLED HIGH ABOVE BINGTOWN HARBOR, THE
simmering anger in her finally boiled. How dare they treat a dragon so? She might be the last of her kind, but she was still Lord of the Three Realms. Yet at Trehaug, they had turned her aside as if she were a beggar knocking at their door. When she had circled the city and roared to let them know she would land there, they had not bothered to clear the wharf of people and goods. When finally she had come down, the people had run shrieking as her beating wings swept crates and barrels into the river.

They had hidden from her, treating her visit with disdain instead of offering her meat and welcome. She had waited, telling herself that they were fearful. Soon they would master themselves and give her proper greeting. Instead, they had sent out a line of men bearing makeshift shields and carrying bows and pikes. They had advanced on her in a line, as if she were a straying cow to be herded, rather than a lord to be served.

Still, she had kept her temper. Many of their generations had passed since a dragon came calling on them. Perhaps they had forgotten the proper courtesies. She would give them a chance. Yet when she greeted them just as if they had made proper obeisance to her, some behaved as if they could not understand her, while others cried out “she spoke, she spoke,” as if it were a wonder. She had waited patiently for them to finish squabbling amongst themselves. At last, they had pushed one woman forward. She pointed her trembling spear at Tintaglia and demanded, “Why are you here?”