“I’m sure she did,” Amber replied in such a strange tone that Brashen was glad when she hurried off to her tasks.

As the anchor was taken up and Brashen called his commands, Kennit’s mother kept her place on the foredeck. The turning of her head, and her nods of approval as the crew moved to their tasks showed her familiarity with the ways of a ship. As Paragon began to move, she lifted her head and her veined hands ran along his forerail in the little pats of a proud mother on her son’s shoulders.

As the wind took Paragon, and he began to slice the waves on his way out of the cove, the old woman unwrapped her package. Brashen rejoined her on the foredeck. Three fat worn books emerged from the yellowed canvas. Brashen knit his brow. “Ship’s logs,” he exclaimed. ” The Logs of the Paragon, a Liveship Trader Vessel of Bingtown on the Cursed Shores.’ Paragon, they’re your logs!”

“I know,” the ship replied gravely. “I know.”

A hoarse voice creaked from behind him. “Trell. Brashen Trell.”

Brashen turned in consternation. Amber supported the skeletal prisoner from Key Island. “He insisted he had to speak to you,” the carpenter began in a low voice.

The prisoner spoke over her words. His blue eyes watered as he fixed Brashen with a doleful stare. His head nodded restlessly in an aimless circle. His hands palsied as well. “I’m Kyle Haven,” he rasped. “And I want to go home. I just want to go home.”

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - Dragon Dreams

TINTAGLIA’S WINGS BEAT FRANTICALLY. REYN CLENCHED HIS EYES AS THE BEACH rushed up toward him. The wind was gusting horribly; this was going to be bad. As her clawed hind feet came down on the beach in a scrabbling run, her body pitched forward. She kept hold of him this time, her clenching claws deepening the permanent bruises that rounded his chest. He managed to land on his feet as she released him, and staggered clear as she caught her weight on her front legs. He lurched a few steps further and then sank onto the damp sand, pathetically relieved to be on the ground again.

“Dragons were never meant to land like that,” Tintaglia complained.

“Humans were never meant to be dropped that way,” Reyn responded wearily. Even breathing hurt.

“As I tried to tell you before we began this foolishness.”

“Go hunt,” Reyn responded. There was no hope in conversing with her when she was hungry. No matter what they discussed, it was always his fault.

“I’m not likely to find anything in this light,” she snorted. But as she gathered herself to take flight again, she added, “I’ll try to bring you some fresh meat.”

She always said that. Sometimes she actually remembered to do it.

He didn’t try to stand up until he had felt the wind of her wings pass over him. Then he forced himself to his feet and staggered up the beach to the edge of a wood. He followed what had become a weary ritual for him. Wood. Fire. Fresh water if any was to hand, water from his skins if there was not. A sparing meal from his supplies, now woefully low. Then he bundled himself up near the fire and took whatever sleep he could get. Tintaglia was right about her hunting. The short winter day had passed swiftly, and the stars were already starting to show in the sky. It was going to be clear and cold. At least he would not be rained on tonight. Only frozen.

He wondered idly how his people were getting on with the work Tintaglia had outlined for them. Dredging the Rain Wild River was hazardous, not just for the unpredictable winter flow of the waters, but for the acidity of it. Those Tattooed who bought their Rain Wild Trader status with labor would have paid fairly for it.

He wondered if Bingtown had managed to remain united, and if the Chalcedeans had made any other attacks since he had left. Tintaglia had been ruthless in her destruction of their vessels. Perhaps just the threat of a dragon might keep them at bay. In their flight over the Inland Passage, they had seen many Chalcedean vessels, both oared and sailing ships. The number of them convinced him that their plans included something more significant than overwhelming Bingtown. The ships were all moving south. They traveled as Chalcedean war clans did, with one great sailing ship for supplies and several galleys for raiding and fighting. Once, they had flown over a smoking village, possibly a pirate settlement, raided by Chalcedeans on their way south.

Tintaglia often menaced the ships and galleys they passed, taking obvious joy in the panic she created. The steady beat of oars faltered and failed as her shadow passed over their decks. Men on the decks cowered while those in the rigging fled their lofty perches. Once Reyn saw a man plummet from a mast to disappear into the sea.