Rapskal strode up and down before his captives, bidding them line up with their fellows. Even so, the Chalcedeans kept to themselves. When it was done to his satisfaction, Rapskal finally turned to the other keepers. ‘Here they be!’ he announced in a ringing voice. ‘Here be the ones who dared come into our territory to shed dragon blood, to slaughter dragons like cattle, for foreign gold. The dragons have defeated them and judged them. Those judged blameless of aggression against dragons shall be ransomed back to their own people. Those who are not ransomed will labour for us, in the village across the river. Those who have risen up against dragons, who have shed dragon blood or showed aggression to dragons, shall be executed by those they have offended.’

A gasp rose from the assembled keepers and cries of outrage and fear from the prisoners. Leftrin was transfixed with horror. Executions?

Several of the prisoners were shouting that he had told them they could live in service to the dragons. One man fell to his knees weeping and crying out that he had been forced and had had no choice. Leftrin strode forward, and then broke into a run as Rapskal crossed his arms on his chest and set his mouth in a flat line. ‘The truth is not owed to our enemies! I said what I said so that you would labour willingly to bring our captured vessels here. But a man who has lifted a hand against a dragon is not fit to live, let alone live among us. So, you will die.’

‘No! NO!’ Leftrin roared the word and a silence swept through the gathering as if borne on the wind. His crew came at his heels, to stand with him.

The keepers were clutching at one another, wide-eyed with shock. Thymara, her face white beneath her blue scaling, stepped forward stiffly, walking like a puppet. Leftrin held up a forbidding hand and she halted, agony in her eyes.

‘This is not the Trader way!’ Leftrin shouted. Rapskal transferred his gaze to the captain and his eyes blazed with outrage at the interruption. Leftrin advanced on the Elderling anyway, his burly hands knotting into fists. ‘Rapskal, how can you speak so? Never have we executed anyone! Leave that for Chalced, or corrupt Jamaillia. Never have we condoned slavery, nor have we killed as punishment for wrongdoing. If they did wrong, punish them. Judge a cost, make them labour until it is paid. Exile we have used, and indenturement. But not death! Whence come these terrible ideas? Who allows dragons to be the sole judges of the fates of people?’

Emotions flickered over Rapskal’s face. The set of his mouth wavered and for a moment, a startled boy looked out at Leftrin. ‘But it has always been so, has it not? Death the punishment for attacking a dragon?’ he asked in honest confusion, all the eloquent elocution gone from his voice.

‘Rapskal! Stay, stay with us, don’t go!’ Thymara leapt forward suddenly and seized him in her arms. ‘Don’t go. Look at me, speak to me. You are Rapskal! Remember yourself!’

Tats joined her, putting a hand on Rapskal’s shoulder. Sylve stepped forward and tall Harrikin, each putting a hand on him. In another breath, Rapskal was surrounded by all the keepers, all straining to touch him.

Leftrin watched in confusion. ‘Don’t go?’ he muttered to himself.

‘You were right to warn him, my dear, all those weeks ago.’ He turned, startled, to find Alise beside him. Her gaze met his, her grey eyes true. ‘Elderling or not, he has spent too much time in the memory-stone. It is not that he has drowned, but that the memories of someone else’s lifetime have overshadowed his own. I know the man who lives again in Rapskal. Tellator. He was a leader among the Elderlings during a time of war with their neighbours. He was passionate in all things, and bloody-minded in his hatred of those who fought against them.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘We would like to believe the Elderlings were always wise and kind, but their roots were human. They had their failings.’

‘I have to protect the dragons,’ Rapskal was saying now. He looked around at the worried faces of his fellows and added, ‘What else are we to do with such villains? Let them live among us? Let them go, to plot further against us? I – I don’t like to kill, Thymara. You know I am not even a good hunter. But in this, what else are we to do?’

The bunched prisoners sensed the division in those they faced. Some howled for mercy, others shouted that they were Traders and only the Council could judge them. Three men made a break for freedom, only to have Heeby trumpet a warning at them that stopped them in their tracks. The red dragon half-opened her wings and advanced on the men, her jaws wide. They retreated into the huddle of prisoners. The Chalcedeans had formed up, back to back. Weaponless, they would still fight. Leftrin shook his head. ‘What are we to do?’ he asked no one quietly.