were growing thicker and harder. She watched him bend his spine slightly so that he could ripple the scales up and scratch beneath them. If he was self-conscious at all about how heavily the Rain Wilds had marked him, he didn’t show it. This morning it almost seemed as if he were showing off his body.
Her mind flitted back to his words the night he had all but driven Tats away. Greft wanted to make his own rules, he’d said. And he had already begun to do just that. She was a little surprised at how easily he had made himself the leader of their group. All he had to do was behave as if he were. All the younger ones had fallen in with him immediately. Only a few remained outside his spell. Tats was one of them. She suspected that if Greft had not made his move so quickly and so definitively labelled Tats as an outsider, Tats would have moved up to a position of leadership. Tats, she thought, probably knew that as well. Jerd was another one who regarded Greft with suspicion, or at least reservation. It’s because we are both female, Thymara thought to herself. It’s because of the way he looks at us, as if he’s always evaluating us. She’d even seen it the first time he looked at Sylve; she’d almost seen him dismiss her as too young.
It was oddly flattering yet a bit frightening to have him look at her. As if he could read her thought or feel her gaze, he suddenly turned his head. She looked down, but it was too late. He knew she’d been staring at him. From the corner of her eye, as he stretched yet again and rolled his shoulders, she saw him smiling at her. She spoke to Rapskal before Greft could start a conversation with her. “Are you awake? We’re supposed to start our journey today.”
“I’m awake,” the boy said. “But why do we have to start so early? The dragons aren’t going to like being made to move before the day warms up.”
Greft responded before she could. “Because the good people of Cassarick are very much looking forward to us being gone. Once we’ve moved the dragons out, they’ll put docks along the shore here. They’ll probably repair or perhaps properly build the locks they attempted to build for the serpents. Done right, it would allow them to bring larger ships here from Trehaug. Improved shipping could mean that they could better exploit whatever they can dig out of the old city. And with the dragons gone, they’ll feel safer about coming and going and digging deeper and closer to this place. To answer your question more directly, Rapskal, it’s about money. The sooner we take the dragons out of here, the sooner the Traders can stop spending money on dragons and make more money from the buried city.”
Rapskal greeted his words with the furrowed brow and slight pout that meant he was thinking hard. “But… why do they have to make us wake up so early? Will one morning make that much difference?”
Greft shook his head, muttered something uncomplimentary and turned away from the boy. A shadow of hurt flickered across Rapskal’s face. And Thymara felt a moment of absolute dislike for Greft. It startled her in its intensity.
“Let’s get something to eat before we have to get going,” Thymara suggested quickly. “This will be the last day that they feed the dragons for us. Beginning tomorrow, we’re going to have to provide for them. And hope they can do a bit of providing for themselves.”
Rapskal’s face brightened at her words. It took so little to make him happy. Her words didn’t have to be kind, even, just not cruel. She tried not to wonder what his early life had been like that mere neutrality seemed like friendship to him. She began folding her blankets up with a small sigh. Of course, even neutral comments attracted Rapskal. Talking to him directly had probably earned her a full day of his close and chattering company.
“I’ve been worrying about how we’re going to feed our dragons. I think the dragons can find some food for themselves. Dead stuff should be easy for them, and maybe big fish, too. Or big dead fish, that might be easiest of all for them. My Heeby likes fish, and she doesn’t much care if she gets it alive or dead.”
“Heeby. Is that her real dragon name?” Tats had suddenly appeared behind Rapskal. He had his pack already loaded and on his back. He’d shaved, too. So he’d been awake for a while. He didn’t shave often, only about once a week. Thymara had seen him do it once since they’d left Trehaug. He didn’t seem very confident of his technique; he crouched with a small mirror balanced on his knee and scraped carefully with a folding razor. It had surprised her to see him shaving; she had realized then that she still thought of him as more boy than man. She glanced over at Rapskal. She supposed that she thought of all of them as boys still, with the possible exception of Greft. Rapskal, she realized, was probably close to her own age. Not a boy at all, really. Until he spoke.
“No. I don’t think Heeby had a name before I got here. But she likes me and she likes the name I gave her, so I think it’s going to be all right.” Rapskal suddenly halted where he stood. Then he smiled indulgently. “Rats! I thought about her too loud and waked her up. I’d better eat fast and get over there. She’s hungry. And I got to tell her again that today is the day we’re going up the river. She forgets stuff pretty easy.”
He crumpled his blanket up and stuffed it into his pack, then looked around the area where he’d slept. He snatched up his extra shirt, pushed it into the top of his pack, and then said, “Time to eat,” and headed off to the main campfire. Tats and Thymara watched him go.
“I think Rapskal and Heeby are pretty well matched,” Tats observed with a smile. He stooped down and picked up a stray sock Rapskal had dropped. “I wish he weren’t so careless,” he added more soberly.
“Give it to me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“No, I’ve got it,” Tats replied easily. “I’m headed that way anyway. You’re right. We’d better enjoy our last easy meal.”
Thymara put her neatly-folded blanket into her pack and did a quick check of the campsite. No. She hadn’t forgotten anything. All the others were beginning to stir. Greft, she noticed, was first in line by the porridge pot. She’d watched how he ate; he’d be fast, and get a second serving before some of the others had even had a first one. His bad manners annoyed her even if she wondered if she were a fool for not copying him. A couple of the boys had started to do so, over the last day or so. Kase and Boxter imitated him in most things, she’d noted. It made her uneasy to see them trail after him now, food bowls brimming. When Greft sat down to eat, they squatted to either side of him. She was surprised to see that Nortel had a black eye and a bruised face. “What happened to him?” she asked.
“Got in a scuffle with one of the other lads,” Tats said briefly. “What’s going to become of the unclaimed dragons?” Tats’ question distracted her from staring at Nortel.
“What?”
“There are two dragons that don’t have keepers. You must have noticed.”
Food bowls in hand, they fell into line behind Nortel and Sylve. The girl immediately turned to join the conversation. “The silver one and the dirty one,” she filled in.
“I think if he were cleaned up a bit, he’d be copper,” Thymara mused. She’d noticed them. She’d almost chosen one of them when it looked like Skymaw was going to refuse her. “They’re both in bad condition,” she added, and then forced herself to voice what she knew they were all thinking. “Without keepers to help them along, they won’t last long on this journey. I’m not even sure they’ll follow us when we leave. Neither one looks very intelligent.”
“You’re right about that. I saw the silver snuggling up to the barge last night, as if it were another dragon. It’s not there this morning, so maybe it figured it out. Still. Not very intelligent. But I doubt that the Cassarick Council will allow us to leave any dragons behind,” Tats said. “If we did, I suspect they’d both be dead within a week. Somehow I doubt they’d continue feeding them once we were gone.”
“That’s mean,” said Sylve. “They’ve been stingy and cruel to these dragons for a long time. My poor Mercor says he can’t remember a time when dragons were so badly treated by humans or Elderlings.”
Nortel nodded wordlessly. The man dishing the porridge glopped a scoop into his bowl. Nortel held his bowl steadily there until the man grudgingly added a bit more. Sylve stepped up to take her place, holding her bowl over the cauldron of porridge. It bobbed as it received its load.
“Well,” Tats said reluctantly, “If we just let those two tag along after us and don’t do anything for them, we’ll be letting them die just as surely as if we left them here to be starved.”
“They aren’t fit to survive,” Alum observed. He was in line behind Tats. “My Arbuc may not be bright, but he’s fast and physically healthy. That’s why I chose him. I thought he had the best chance of surviving the journey.”
“The midwife said I wasn’t fit to survive,” Thymara said quietly as her bowl was filled with porridge. She trailed after Sylve to a pile of hard bread rolls set out on a clean towel. Each girl chose one and then moved on.
