CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BINGTOWN NEGOTIATIONS
THE ROOF ON THE TRADERS’ CONCOURSE WAS GONE. THE Chalcedeans had finished what the New Traders had begun. Ronica picked her way past the sooty remains of the roof that had collapsed on the Concourse floor. It had continued to burn after it fell, streaking the stone walls with soot and smoke. Tapestries and banners that had once decorated the hall hung in charred fragments. Above, a few beams remained, burned to black points. The afternoon sky threatened rain as it looked grayly down on the gathering inside the roofless building, yet the Bingtown Traders had stubbornly insisted on meeting in a structure that could no longer shelter them. That, Ronica thought, spoke volumes about the legendary tenacity of the Traders.
The fallen timbers had been pushed to one side. Folk stepped over and through the rest of the rubble. Cinders crunched underfoot and the smell of damp ash rose as the crowd milled. The fire that had taken the roof had claimed most of the tables and benches as well. Some scorched chairs remained, but Ronica did not trust any of them enough to sit on them.
And there was a strange equality to standing shoulder to shoulder with the others gathered here. Bingtown Traders, New Traders, tattooed slaves and brawny fisherfolk, tradesmen and servants all stood with their friends and kin.
They filled the hall. Outside, the overflow sat on the steps and clustered in groups on the grounds. Despite their differing origins, there was an odd sameness to the folk. All faces bore the shock and grief of the Chalcedean invasion and the havoc it had wrought. Battle and fire had treated them equally, from wealthy Bingtown Trader to humble kitchen slave. Their clothes were stained with soot or blood and sometimes both. Most looked unkempt. Children huddled near parents or neighbors. Weapons were carried openly. The talk was muttered and low, and most had to do with the dragon.
“She breathed on them, and they just melted away like candles in a flame.”
“Smashed the whole hull with one blow of her tail.”
“Not even Chalcedeans deserve to die like that.”
“Don’t they? They deserve to die however we can manage it.”
“The dragon is a blessing from Sa, sent to save us. We should prepare thanksgiving offerings.”
Many folk stood silent, eyes fixed on the raised stone dais that had survived to elevate the chosen leaders from each group.
Serilla was there, representing Jamaillia, with Roed Caern glowering beside her. The sight of him on the dais made Ronica clench her teeth but she forced herself not to stare at him. She had hoped that Serilla had broken off with Roed following his ill-advised attack upon the New Traders. How could she be so foolish? The Companion stood, eyes cast down as if in deep thought. She was dressed far more elegantly than anyone else on the dais, in a long, soft white robe, decorated with crossing ropes of cloth-of-gold. Ashes and soot had marred the hem of it. Despite the garment’s long sleeves and the thick woolen cloak she wore, the Companion stood with her arms crossed as if chilled.
Sparse Kelter was also on the dais, and the blood on his rough fisherman’s smock was not fish blood today. A heavy-boned woman with tattoos sprawling across her cheek and onto her neck flanked him. Dujia, leader of the Tattooed, wore ragged trousers and a patched tunic. Her bare feet were dirty. A rough bandage around her upper arm showed that she had been in the thick of the fighting.
Traders Devouchet, Conry and Drur represented the Bingtown Council. Ronica did not know if they were the only surviving Council heads, or the only ones bold enough to dare displeasing Caern and his cohorts. They stood well away from Serilla and Roed. At least that separation had been established.
Mingsley was there for the New Traders. His richly embroidered vest showed several days of hard wear. He stood at the opposite side of the dais from the slave woman and avoided her gaze. Ronica had heard that Dujia had not led an easy life as his slave, and that he had good reason to fear her.
Sitting on the edge of the dais, feet dangling, oddly calm, was Ronica’s own grandson, Selden. His eyes wandered over the crowd below him with an air of preoccupation. Only Mingsley had dared question his right to be there. Selden had met his gaze squarely.
“I will speak for us all when the dragon comes,” he had assured the man. “And, if needed, I will speak for the dragon to you. I must be here so she can see me above the crowd.”
“What makes you think she will come here?” Mingsley had demanded.
Selden had smiled an other-worldly smile. “Oh, she will come. Never fear,” he had replied. He blinked his eyes slowly. “She sleeps now. Her belly is full.” When her grandson smiled, the silvery scaling across his cheeks rippled and shone. Mingsley had stared, and then stepped back from the boy. Ronica feared that she could already detect a blue shimmer to Selden’s lips beneath the chapping. How could he have changed so much, so swiftly? As baffling, perhaps, was the inordinate pleasure he took in the changes.
Jani Khuprus, representing the Rain Wilds, stood protectively behind Selden. Ronica was glad she was there, but wondered at her intent. Would she claim the last heir to the Vestrit family and carry him off to Trehaug? Yet, if she did not, what place would there be for him in Bingtown?
Keffria stood so close to the dais that she could have reached out and touched her boy. But she didn’t. Ronica’s daughter had been silent since Reyn had brought Selden to them. She had looked at the silvery path of scales across the tops of her son’s cheeks, but she had not touched them. Selden had joyously told her that Malta was alive, for the dragon said so. When Keffria had said nothing in response to his news, he had seized her arm, as if to waken her from sleep. “Mother. Put your grief aside. Tintaglia can bring Malta back to us. I know she can.”
“I will wait for that,” Keffria had said faintly. No more than that. Now she looked up at her son as if he were a ghost, as if a tracery of scales had removed him from her world.
Just beyond Keffria stood Reyn Khuprus. He, like Jani, went unveiled now. From time to time, Ronica saw folk turn their heads and stare at the Rain Wilders, but both were too preoccupied to be offended. Reyn was in deep conversation with Grag Tenira. There seemed to be a difference of opinion, one that was civil but intense. She hoped it would not cause discord between them tonight. Bingtown needed every semblance of unity it could muster.
Ronica’s eyes traveled across the assembled folk in all their variety. She smiled grimly to herself. Selden was still her grandson; despite his scales, he was still a Vestrit. Perhaps the changes on Selden’s face would be no more of a stigma than the tattoos that others would wear unashamedly in the new Bingtown. One of the ships that the dragon had dismasted had been filled with Bingtown captives. Many had already been forcibly tattooed, their faces marked with the sigils of their captors so that each raider would receive his profit when they were sold in Chalced. The Chalcedeans had abandoned the dismasted ship and attempted to escape in galleys, but Ronica did not think any had been successful. Bingtown folk had poled out on a makeshift raft to the listing vessel to rescue their kin, while the dragon pursued Chalcedean prey. Many who had never expected to wear a slave tattoo now did, including some New Traders. She suspected they might shift their politics in response.
Anxiety shifted the gathered folk endlessly. When the dragon had returned from hunting Chalcedeans, she had ordered their leaders to assemble, saying that she would treat with them soon. The sun had been high then. Now night threatened and still she had not returned. Ronica returned her gaze to the dais. It would be interesting to see who would try to call this gathering to order, and whom the crowd would follow.
Ronica was expecting Serilla to use her claim of the Satrap’s authority, but Trader Devouchet stepped to the front of the dais. He lifted his arms high and the crowd hushed.
“We have gathered here in the Bingtown Traders’ Concourse. Since Trader Dwicker has been murdered, I step up to the position of leader of the Bingtown Traders’ Council. I claim the right to speak first.” He looked over the assembled folk expecting some dissent, but for now, all was silent.
Devouchet proceeded to state the obvious. “We are gathered here, all the folk of Bingtown, to discuss what we will do about the dragon that has descended upon us.”
That, Ronica thought to herself, was inspired. Devouchet mentioned nothing of the differences that had set the town to battling in the first place. He focused all of them, as a single entity, on the problem of the dragon. Devouchet spoke on.
“She has driven the Chalcedean fleet from our harbor and hunted down several roving bands of raiders. For now, she has disappeared from our skies, but she said she would soon return. Before she does, we must decide how to deal with her. She has freed our harbor. What are we prepared to offer her in exchange?”
He paused for breath. That was his mistake, for a hundred voices filled in, with a hundred different answers.
“Nothing. We owe her nothing!” one man bellowed angrily, while another made heard his comment, “Trader Tenira’s son has already struck our deal. Grag told her that if she drove the Chalcedeans away, we would help her with a task she named. That seems fair enough. Does a Bingtown Trader go back on his word, even to a dragon?”
“We should prepare offerings for it. The dragon has liberated us. We should offer thanksgiving to Sa for sending us this champion!”
“I’m not a Trader! Neither is my brother, and we won’t be bound by another man’s word!”
“Kill it. All the legends of dragons warn of their treachery and cruelty. We should be readying our defenses, not standing about talking.”
“Quiet!” Mingsley roared, stepping forward to stand at Devouchet’s shoulder. He was a stout man, but the power of his voice still surprised Ronica. As he looked about over the crowd, the whites showed all around his eyes. The man, Ronica realized, was deeply frightened. “We have no time for squabbling. We must move swiftly to an accord. When the dragon returns, we must meet her as a united folk. Resistance would be a mistake. You saw what she did to those ships and men. We must placate her, if we hope to avoid the same fate.”
“Perhaps some here deserve the same fate as the Chalcedeans,” Roed Caern observed callously. He pushed forward to stand threateningly close to the stout merchant. Mingsley stepped back from him as Roed turned to the crowd. “I heard it spoken clearly, earlier. A Trader has already struck an accord with the dragon. The dragon is ours! She belongs to the Bingtown Traders. We should honor our bargain, Bingtown Traders, without recourse to any of the foreigners who have sought to claim our town as their own. With the dragon on our side, Bingtown can not only drive the dirty Chalcedeans back to their own land, we can force out the New Traders and their thieving slaves with them. We have all heard the news. The Satrap is dead. We cannot rely on Jamaillia to aid us. Bingtown Traders, look around you. We stand in our ruined hall in a ravaged town. How have we come to this pass? By tolerating the greedy New Traders in our midst, folk who came here in violation of our charter, to plunder our land and beggar us!” A sneer of hatred curled his lip as he stared at Mingsley. With narrowed eyes, he suggested, “How can we pay our dragon? With meat. Let the dragon rid us of all outsiders.”
What happened next shocked everyone. Even as the mutter of outrage at his words became a roar, Companion Serilla stepped forward resolutely. As Roed turned, surprised, she set her small hand to the center of his chest. Baring her teeth in sudden effort, she shoved him backward off the dais. The fall was a short one; it would have been an easy jump if he had been prepared, but he was not. He went over with a yell, arms flailing. Ronica heard the sharp crack of his head against the floor, and then his howl of pain. Men closed in around him. There was a brief flurry of struggle.
“Stand clear of him!” Serilla shouted, and for one confusing instant, Ronica thought she defended the man. “Disperse, or share his fate!” Like trickling water vanishing in sand, those few who had attempted to help Roed fell back and merged suddenly into the crowd. Roed alone remained, held immobile by his captors, one arm twisted up behind him. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but managed to spit a curse at Serilla. Traders, both Old and New, were the ones who held him. At a nod from Serilla, they wrestled him away from the gathering. Ronica wondered, as she watched him taken away, what they would do with him.
Companion Serilla suddenly flung her head up and looked out over the crowd. For the first time, Ronica saw the woman’s face alight as if a true spirit resided in her. She did not even look after the man she had overthrown. She stood, whole and temporarily in command.
“We cannot tolerate Roed Caern, or those who think like him,” she declared loudly. “He seeks to sow discord when what we need is unity. He speaks against the authority of the Satrapy, as if it perished with Satrap Cosgo. You know it has not! Heed me, folk of Bingtown. Whether or not the Satrap is alive does not matter at this time. What does matter is that he left me in authority, to take on the weight of his rule if he should perish. I shall not fail him, nor his subjects. Whatever else you may be, one and all, you are subjects of the Satrap, and the Satrapy rules you. In that, at least, you can be equal and united.” She paused and let her gaze travel over the others who shared the dais with her. “None of you are needed here. I am capable of speaking for all of you. Moreover, whatever treaty I work out with the dragon will bind all of you equally. Is not that best? To let someone with no personal ties to Bingtown speak for all of you, impersonally?”
She almost succeeded. After Roed, she sounded reasonable. Ronica Vestrit watched folk exchanging glances. Then Dujia spoke from the other end of the dais. “I speak for the Tattooed when I say that we have had enough of the ‘equality’ the Satrap bestowed upon us. Now we will make our own equality, as residents of Bingtown, not Jamaillian subjects. We will have a voice in what is promised to this dragon. For too long, others have disposed of our labor and our lives. We can tolerate it no longer.”
“I feared this,” Mingsley broke in. He pointed a shaking finger at the tattooed woman. “You slaves will spoil everything. You care only for revenge. No doubt, you will do all in your power to defy the dragon, for the sake of bringing her wrath down on your masters. But when all is done, even if all your New Trader masters die, you will be the same folk you are today. You are not fit to govern yourselves. You have forgotten what it is to be responsible. The proof of it is in how you have behaved since you betrayed your rightful masters and abandoned their discipline. You have reverted to what you were before your masters took control of you.
“Look at yourself, Dujia. You became a thief first, and a slave afterward. You deserved your fate. You chose your life. You should have accepted it. But master after master found you a thief and a liar, until the map of those you have served stretches across your face to your neck. You should not even be up here, asserting the right to speak.
“Good people of Bingtown, the slaves are not a separate folk, save that they are marked for their crimes. As well give the whores a right to speak in this, or the pickpockets. Let us listen to Serilla. We are all Jamaillian, Old Trader and New, and all should be content to be bound by the Satrap’s word. I speak for the New Traders when I say I accept Companion Serilla to negotiate for us with the dragon.”
Serilla stood straight and tall. She smiled, and it seemed genuine. She looked past Mingsley to include Dujia in the smile. “As the Satrap’s representative, of course I shall negotiate for you. For all of you. New Trader Mingsley has not well considered his words. Has he forgotten that some in Bingtown now wear the tattoos of slavery, when their only crime was to be captured by the Chalcedeans? For Bingtown to survive and prosper, it must go back to its oldest roots. By its charter, it was a place where ambitious outcasts could forge new homes and lives for themselves.” She gave a small, disarming laugh. “Left here to wield the Satrap’s power, I, too, am an exile of sorts. Never again will I return to Jamaillia. Like you, I must become a citizen of Bingtown, and build a new life for myself here. Look at me. Consider that I embody all that Bingtown is. Come,” she urged them softly. She looked all around at the crowd. “Accept me. Let me speak for all of you, and bind us into one accord.”
Jani Khuprus shook her head regretfully as she stepped forward to claim the right to speak. “There are those of us who are not content to be bound by the Satrap’s word, or any man’s word, save our own. I speak for the Rain Wilds. What has Jamaillia ever done for us, save restrict our trade and steal half our profits? No, Companion Serilla. You are no companion of mine. Bind Jamaillia as you will, but the Rain Wilds will bear that yoke no more. We know more of this dragon than you do. We will not let you bargain our lives away to placate her. My people have said that I speak for them, and I shall. I have no right to let their voices be muffled in yours.” Jani glanced down to exchange a look with Reyn.
Ronica sensed that Jani and Reyn had prepared for this moment.
Reyn spoke up from the floor. “Listen to her. The dragon is not to be trusted. You must guard your senses against her glamour, and your hearts against her clever words. I speak as one who was long deceived by her, and paid for that deception with a deep and painful loss. It is tempting to look on her beauty and believe her a wondrous wise creature, sprung from legend to save us. Do not be so gullible. She would have us believe she is superior to us, our conqueror and ruler simply by virtue of what she is. She is no better than we are, and in my heart I believe she is truly no more than a beast with the cunning to shape words.” He raised his voice to be heard by all. “We have been told that she is sleeping off a full belly. Dare any of us ask, full of what? On what meat has she fed?” As his words settled on his listeners, he added, “Many of us would rather die than be slaves anymore. Well, I would rather die than be either her slave or her food.”
The world dimmed suddenly. An instant later, a blast of cold air, noisome with the stench of snakes, swept over the crowd. There were shrieks of terror and angry shouts as the gathered folk cowered in the shadow of the dragon. Some instinctively sought shelter near the walls while others tried to hide themselves in the center of the crowd. Then, as the shadow swept past and the fading light of day returned, Ronica felt the creature land in the Concourse grounds. The impact of her weight traveled through the paving stones and made the walls of the Concourse shudder. Although the doors were too small to admit her, Ronica wondered if even the stout stone walls would withstand a determined assault by the dragon. An instant later, the creature reared up; her clawed front feet came to rest on the top of the wall. Her cart-sized head on her serpentine neck looked down on them all. She snorted, and Reyn Khuprus was staggered by the blast of air from her nostrils.
“So, I am a beast cunning enough to speak, am I? And what title do you give yourself then, human? With your paltry years and truncated memory, how can you claim to be my equal?”
Everyone pressed back against their fellows to clear a space around the object of Tintaglia’s displeasure. Even the diplomats on the dais raised their arms to shield their faces as if they feared to share Reyn’s punishment. All waited to see him die.
In a move that made Ronica gasp, Selden jumped lightly from the edge of the dais. He placed himself in the dragon’s sight, then boldly inserted his small body between Reyn and the dragon’s angry gaze. To the dragon, he swept a courtly bow. “Welcome, gleaming one!” Every eye, every ear was focused only on him. “We have gathered here, as you bid us. We have awaited your return, sky-ruler, that we might learn exactly what task you wish us to perform.”
“Ah. I see.” The dragon lifted her head, the better to observe all the folk. There was a general cowering, an unintended genuflection before her. “You did not, then, gather to plot against me?”
“No one has seriously considered such a thing!” Selden lied valiantly. “Perhaps we are merely humans, but we are not stupid. Who among us could think to defy your scaled mightiness? Many tales have we told one another of your valiant deeds today. All have heard of your fearsome breath, of the wind of your wings and the strength of your tail. All recognize that without your glorious might, our enemies would have overrun us. Think how sorrowful this day could have been for us, for they would have had the honor of serving you instead of us.”
Whom, Ronica wondered, did Selden address? Did he flatter the dragon, or were his words to remind the gathered folk that other humans could serve her just as well? The people of Bingtown could be replaced. Perhaps the only way to survive was to claim to serve her willingly.
Tintaglia’s great silver eyes spun warmly at Selden’s flattery. Ronica gazed into their swirling depths and felt herself drawn to the creature. She was truly magnificent. The lapping of the scales on her face reminded Ronica of the flexible links of fine jewelry chain. As Tintaglia considered the gathered folk, her head swayed gently from side to side. Ronica felt caught in that motion, unable to tear her attention away. The dragon was both silver and blue; every movement called forth both colors from her scales. The grace of her bent neck was like a swan’s. Ronica was seized with a desire to touch the dragon, to discover for herself if the smoothly undulating hide were warm or cool. All around her, people edged toward the dragon, entranced with her loveliness. Ronica felt the tension ebb away from her. She felt weary still, but it was a good weariness, like the soft ache of muscles at the end of a useful day.
“What I require of you is simple,” the dragon said softly. “Humans have always been builders and diggers. It is in your nature to shape nature to your own ends. This time, you will shape the world to my needs. There is a place in the Rain Wild River where the waters flow shallow. I wish you to go there and make it deeper, deep enough for a sea serpent to pass. That is all. Do you understand?”
The asking of the question seemed to loosen their silence. People murmured amongst themselves in gentle surprise. This was all she asked, this simple thing?
Then back in the crowd a man shouted a question. “Why? Why do you want serpents to be able to go up the Rain Wild River?”
“They are the young of dragons,” Tintaglia told him calmly. “They must go up the river, to a special place, to cocoon so that they may become full dragons. Once, there was a hauling-out place near the Rain Wild city of Trehaug, but the swamps have swallowed those warm and sandy banks. Upriver, there is still a site that may serve. If the serpents can reach it.”
Her eyes spun pensively for a moment. “They will require guards while they are cocooned. You will have to protect them from predators during the winter months while they are changing. This was a task, long ago, that dragons and Elderlings shared. The Elderlings built their cities not far from our hatching grounds, the better to be able to guard our cocoons until spring brought the bright sunlight needed for us to hatch. If not for the Elderling city near the lower hatching ground, I would not have been saved. You can build where the Elderlings once lived.”
“In the Rain Wilds?” someone asked in incredulous horror. “The water is acid; only the rain is drinkable. The land trembles constantly. Folk who live in the Rain Wilds for too long go mad. Their children are born dead or deformed, and as they age, their bodies become monstrous. All know that.”
The dragon made an odd sound in her throat. Every muscle in Ronica’s body tightened, until she realized what it was. Laughter. “Folk can live by the Rain Wild River. Trehaug is proof of that. But before Trehaug, long before, there were wondrous cities on the banks of the Rain Wild River. There can be again. I will show you how the water may be made drinkable. The land has subsided; you must live in the trees, as they do in Trehaug; there is no help for that.”
Ronica felt an odd prickling sensation in her mind. She blinked her eyes rapidly. Something . . . ah. That was what had changed. The dragon had shifted her gaze to a different part of the gathering. Ronica felt more alert again. She resolved to be more wary of the dragon’s spinning glance.
Jani Khuprus spoke from the dais. Her voice shook as she dared to address the dragon, but iron determination ran through her words. “Indeed, folk can live in the Rain Wilds. But not without cost and not without skill. We are proof of that. The Rain Wilds are the province of the Rain Wild Traders. We will not allow them to be taken from us.” She paused, and took a shaky breath. “No others know how to subsist beside the river, how to build in the trees or how to withstand the madness seasons. The buried city we once mined for trade goods is lost to us now. We must find other ways to survive there. Nevertheless, the Rain Wilds are our home. We will not surrender them.”
“Then you must be the one to do the winter guarding,” the dragon told her smoothly. She cocked her head. “You are more suited to this task than you know.”
Jani visibly gathered her determination. “That, perhaps, we can do. If certain conditions are met.” She glanced out over the gathered people. With fresh confidence she directed, “Let torches be kindled. The settling of the details may take some time.”
“But surely not long,” the dragon intoned warningly.
Jani was not daunted. “This is not a task for a handful of men with shovels. Engineers and workers from Bingtown will have to help us deepen the river channel for you. It will take planning and many workers. The population of Trehaug may not be great enough to support such a venture on its own.”
Jani’s voice became more certain, and took on the cadence of a bargainer. This was something she knew how to do well. “There will be difficulties to surmount, of course, but the Rain Wild Traders are accustomed to the hardships of the Rain Wild. Workers will have to be fed and sheltered. Food supplies would have to be brought in, and that requires our liveships, such as the Kendry, who was taken from us. You will, of course, aid us in recovering him? And in keeping the river mouth free of Chalcedeans, so that supplies can flow freely?”
The dragon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Of course,” she said a bit stiffly. “Surely that will content you.”
Throughout the roofless concourse, torches were being kindled. Their brightness seemed only to make the night sky darker. Cold was settling over the gathered folk. Breath showed in the light of the torches and people moved closer to one another, taking comfort in body warmth. The night sky began to draw the warmth of the brief day away, but no one thought of leaving. Bargaining was the blood of Bingtown, and this was far too important a deal not to witness its birth. Outside, a man’s raised voice was conveying the negotiations to the folk waiting there.
Jani knit her scaled brows. “We shall have to build a second city, near this ‘upper hatching ground’ you speak of. That will take time.”
“Time we do not have,” the dragon declared impatiently. “It is of the essence that this work begin as soon as possible, before other serpents perish.”
Jani shrugged helplessly. “If haste is necessary, then even more workers will be needed. We may need to bring them from as far as Jamaillia. They must be paid. Where is the money to come from?”
“Money? Paid?” the dragon demanded, becoming incensed.
Dujia suddenly claimed the floor. She stepped to the edge of the dais, to stand beside Jani. “There is no need to go to Jamaillia for workers. My people are here. The Tattooed were brought here to work, and paid nothing at all. Some of us will be willing to go up the river and do this work, not for money, but for a chance. A chance for homes and futures of our own. Give us, to begin with, food and shelter. We will work to make our own fortunes.”
Jani turned to confront her. A terrible hope gleamed in the Rain Wild woman’s face. She spoke clearly and slowly, laying out the terms of a bargain. “To come to the Rain Wild, you must become of the Rain Wild. You cannot hold yourselves back from us.” She stared deep into Dujia’s eyes, but the Tattooed woman did not glance away from Jani’s Rain Wild scales and gently glowing eyes. Jani smiled at her. Then her eyes suddenly roved over the assembled people. She seemed to see the Tattooed in a new way. “Your children would have to take husbands and wives among us. Your grandchildren would be Rain Wilders. There is no leaving, once you have come to the Rain Wilds. You cannot remain a separate people, with separate ways. It is not an easy life. Many will die. Do you understand what you are offering?”
Dujia cleared her throat. When Jani glanced back at her, she met her look squarely. “You say we must become of the Rain Wild. Rain Wild Traders are what you call yourselves. That is what we would become? Traders? With the rights of Traders?”
“Those who marry Rain Wild Traders always become Rain Wild Traders. Mingle your families with ours, and yours become ours.”
“Our homes would be our own? Whatever we acquired, it would be ours?”
“Of course.”
Dujia looked out over the assembled folk. Her eyes sought out the Tattooed groups. “This is what you told me you wanted. Homes and possessions that you could pass on to your children. To be on an equal footing with your neighbors. The Rain Wilders offer us this. They warn us fairly of hardships to come. I have spoken for you, but each of you must decide.”
From somewhere amongst the Tattooed, a voice called a question. “And if we don’t want to go to the Rain Wilds? What then?”
Serilla stepped forward.
“I speak with the authority of the Satrapy. Henceforth, there shall be no slaves in Bingtown. Tattooed are Tattooed: no more nor less than that. It would violate the original Charter of the Bingtown Traders for me to elevate the Tattooed to an equal standing with the Traders. I cannot do that. But I can decree that henceforth, in conformity with the original laws of Bingtown, the Satrapy of Jamaillia will not recognize slavery or the claims of slave owners in Bingtown.” She let her voice drop dramatically. “Tattooed ones, you are free.”
“We always were!” someone called out from the crowd, spoiling the moment for the Companion.
Mingsley made a final bid to save his people’s labor force. “But indentured servants, surely, are another matter—”
He was shouted down, not just by the crowd but by a roar from the dragon. “Enough. Solve these petty issues on your own time. I care not how you color your skins or name yourselves, so long as the work is done.” She looked at Jani Khuprus. “You can draw on Bingtown for engineers and planners. You have a labor force. I myself will soar forth tomorrow, to free the Kendry and find the other liveships and send them to you. I pledge I will keep the waters between Trehaug and Bingtown cleared of enemy ships while you do this work. Surely, all is now in agreement.”
The sky was black. The dragon was a gleaming entity of silver and blue. Her head swayed gently over them as she awaited their assent. The flickering torchlight caressed her wondrous form. Ronica felt as if she were in a tale of enchantment, witness to a great miracle. The petty problems that remained suddenly seemed unworthy of discussion. Had not Tintaglia pointed out that they were creatures of brief life? Surely, it could matter little what happened in such a tiny flicker of time as they occupied. Serving Tintaglia in restoring dragons to the world would be a way to ensure their lives had some impact on the greater world.
A sigh of agreement ran through the crowd. Ronica moved her own head in a slow nod.
“Malta,” Keffria said quietly beside her. The word disturbed Ronica. It had grown so quiet within the Concourse that the sound was like a pebble dropped in a still pool. A few heads turned toward them. Her daughter took a deep breath and spoke the name louder. “Malta.”
The dragon turned to regard them, and her eyes were not pleased. “What is it?” she demanded.
Keffria stepped toward the dragon, aggression in her stride. “Malta!” she shouted the name. “Malta was my daughter. I am told you lured her to her death. And now, by some wicked magery, my son, my last child, stands before you and praises you. All my people murmur and smile at sight of you, like babies entranced with a shiny dangle.”
As Keffria spoke, Ronica felt a strange agitation. How dare she speak so to this glorious and benevolent creature, the creature who had rescued all of Bingtown—the creature responsible for Malta’s death? Ronica felt an instant of disorientation as if she woke from a deep sleep.
“BUT MOTHER—” SELDEN BEGAN PLEADINGLY, TAKING HER ARM. Keffria set her son firmly aside, out of harm’s way, and spoke on. Her rising anger at how the dragon manipulated the crowd had cracked her frozen heart. Fury poured out with her pain.
“I do not succumb to your glamour. I do contemplate how I could take revenge on you. If it is so unthinkable that I will not worship the one who let my daughter die, then you had best slay me now. Breathe on me and melt the flesh from my bones. It will be worth it if it opens my son’s eyes to you, and the eyes of those others willing to grovel before you.” She spat her final words. Her eyes swept the gathered folk. “You refused to heed the words of Reyn Khuprus. Watch now, and see what this creature truly is.”
The dragon drew back her head. The faint luminescence of the creature’s silver eyes made them pale stars. Her great jaws opened wide, but Keffria had finally found her courage. Selden stood, stricken by horror, eyes darting from his mother to the dragon. It cut her that he seemed unable to choose, but she stood her ground. All the other folk crowded back and away from Keffria as the dragon drew breath. Then, pushing her way forward, her mother stepped to her side. Ronica took her arm. Together they stared defiantly up at the creature that had taken Malta’s life and Selden’s heart. Keffria found her voice again. “Give me back my children! Or give me my death!”
From somewhere, Reyn Khuprus hurtled into them, jostling them all aside. Keffria staggered to her knees and Ronica went down beside her. She heard Jani Khuprus’ cry of horror from the dais. The young Rain Wilder stood alone where they had been. “Run!” he ordered them, then spun to face the dragon, his scaled face contorted with fury. “Tintaglia!” he roared. “Stop!” A sword was bared in his hand.
For a wonder, the dragon froze. Her jaws still gaped. A single drop of liquid formed on one of her myriad teeth. When it dripped to the stone floor of the Concourse, the stone sizzled and gave way to it.
But Reyn had not stopped her. Selden had. He had stepped quietly forward, to crane his neck up at Tintaglia. His words and manner healed Keffria’s heart. “Please, don’t hurt them!” the boy begged shrilly, his courtier’s manners fled. “Please, dragon, they are my family, as dear to me as yours are to you. All we want is to have my sister back. Mighty as you are, can’t you give that to us? Can’t you bring her back?”
Reyn seized Selden by his shoulders, thrust him toward his mother. Keffria caught hold of him in numbed silence. Her son, truly hers still, no matter how scales lined his face. She held him tight to her, and felt her mother’s grip on her arm tighten. The Vestrits stood together, no matter what else might come.
“No one can bring back the dead, Selden,” Reyn said flatly. “It is useless to ask that of her. Malta is dead.” As he flung back his head to confront the dragon, a trick of the torches sent light dancing along his scaled face, making Reyn appear as dragonlike as Tintaglia. “Keffria is right. I will not be seduced. No matter what you can do for Bingtown, you should be revealed for what you are, to keep others from falling to your wiles.” He turned to the gathered folk and opened wide his arms. “Hear me, people of Bingtown! She has entranced you with her glamour. You cannot believe or trust this creature. She will not keep her word. When the time suits her, she will throw aside all bargains, and claim one so great as herself cannot be bound in agreement by beings as insignificant as we are. Aid her, and you restore to life a race of tyrants! Oppose her now, while there is only one to fight.”
Tintaglia flung her head back and gave a roar of frustration that surely must have shaken the stars in their sockets. Keffria shrank back, but they did not run. The dragon lifted her front feet from the wall’s edge and slammed them down again. A great jagged crack raced through the stone wall at the impact. “You tire me!” she hissed at Reyn. “I lie, you say. You poison minds against me with your venomous words. I lie? I break my word? You lie! Look into my eyes, human, and know the truth.”
She thrust her great head at him, but Reyn held his ground. Ronica, gripping Keffria’s shoulders, tried to drag her back, but she would not budge. She grasped Selden as he strained toward the dragon. Their tableau held, a frozen statue of fear and longing. Then Keffria heard Reyn gasp out his breath, and not take another. He was transfixed by the swift silver spinning of the dragon’s eyes. The creature did not touch Reyn, but the Rain Wilder leaned toward her, his muscles standing out as if he resisted a great force. Keffria reached to restrain him, but beneath her hand, his flesh was set like stone. Reyn’s lips moved, but he uttered no sound.
Abruptly, the dragon’s eyes stopped their silver swirling. Reyn dropped at their feet like a puppet with severed strings. He sprawled motionless on the cold stone floor.
REYN HAD NOT KNOWN SHE COULD REACH OUT AND TOUCH HIS mind so effortlessly. As he stared into her eyes, he felt and heard her within his thoughts. “Faithless little man,” she said scathingly. “You measure me by your own actions. I have not betrayed you. You blame me because you could not find your female, but I had already kept my word to you. I could not rescue your Malta. I did all I could and then I left you to solve your problem. You failed. That was not my fault, and I do not deserve to be reviled for it. The failure is yours, little male. Nor did I lie. Open yourself. Touch me and know that I spoke true. Malta lives.”
Twice before, he had touched souls with Malta. In the mystic intimacy of the dream-box, in the joining made possible by finely powdered wizardwood, their thoughts had mingled. They had dreamed well together. The memory of it still stirred his blood to heat. In the dream-box unity, he had known her in a way he could never mistake for another. Beyond scent, touch or even the taste of her lips was another sensation that was the essence of Malta in his mind.
The dragon seized his mind: he was held, whether he would or not. He struggled, until he sensed in the dragon another reaching. Faint as perfume on the wind, a rare yet familiar sensation touched his mind. Malta. Through the dragon he sensed her but could not touch her. It was as taunting as seeing her silhouette on a blowing curtain, or smelling her scent and feeling the warmth of her cheek on a recently vacated pillow. He leaned toward it, yearning, but could find no substance. He felt Tintaglia’s efforts, as if she sorted Malta’s thread from a tangled skein of sensations. Here it was strong and clean, and then it vanished into memories of wind and rain and salt water. Where is she? his mind frantically demanded of Tintaglia’s. How is she?
I cannot know such things by this sense! the dragon replied disdainfully. As well sniff for a sound, or taste sunlight! This is the bonding sense, not meant to flow between human and dragon. You have not the ability to reciprocate, and so she is unaware of your yearning. I can only tell you that she lives, somewhere, somehow. Now do you believe me?
“I BELIEVE MALTA IS ALIVE. I BELIEVE SHE LIVES. SHE LIVES.” REYN hoarsely whispered the words. Agony or rapture could have been his emotion; it was hard to tell.
Jani had clambered from the dais and forced her way through the crowd to kneel beside her son. Now she looked across Reyn’s body at Selden. “What did she do to him?” she cried.
Keffria watched them both. Did Jani know how much she resembled the dragon? The fine scaling on her lips and brow and the faint glow of her eyes in the torchlight all contributed to the effect. Jani knelt by Reyn’s body and stared down at him just as Tintaglia looked down on them. How could one who looked so like the dragon ask her son such a question? Selden knelt beside them, but he gazed raptly up at the dragon that loomed over them. His lips moved as if he prayed, but his eyes were on Tintaglia.
“I don’t know,” Keffria replied for her son. She looked down at Malta’s stirring betrothed. He looked half a dragon himself, but he had been willing to risk his life to save her daughter’s. His heart was as human as hers. She glanced at her own son, regarding the dragon so intently. Light ran across Selden’s light scaling. He, too, had stood before the dragon and begged for his family. He was still hers. In an odd way, so was Reyn. Keffria set her hand gently on Reyn’s chest. “Lie still,” she bade him. “You’ll be all right. Just lie still.”
Above them, the dragon threw back her head and trumpeted triumphantly. “He believes me! You see, folk of Bingtown. I do not lie! Come. Let us seal this bargain we have made, and tomorrow begin a new life for all of us.”
Jani swept suddenly to her feet. “I will not agree. There will be no bargain here until I know what you have done to my son!”
Tintaglia gave Reyn a careless glance. “I have enlightened him, Trader Khuprus. That is all. He will not doubt me again.”
Reyn abruptly clutched Keffria’s wrist in his scaly hand. His eyes bored into hers. “She lives,” he promised her wildly. “Malta truly lives. I have touched minds with her, through the dragon.”
Beside her, Ronica gave a broken sob. Keffria still could not find hope. Was this true, or a dragon’s deception?
The whites of Reyn’s copper eyes glowed as he struggled to a sitting position. He drew an uneven breath. “Strike what bargain you will with Bingtown, Tintaglia,” he said in a low voice. “But before you do, we will make our own agreement.” His voice dropped. “For you have handed me the final piece of a puzzle.” He lifted his eyes to stare at her boldly as he offered, “Others, dragons like yourself, may still survive.”
At this last sentence, Tintaglia froze, looking down on Reyn. She twisted her head speculatively. “Where?” she demanded.
Before Reyn could reply, Mingsley had clambered down from the dais to push between the dragon and Reyn. “This is not fair!” he proclaimed. “People of Bingtown, listen to me! Do the Rain Wilds speak for all of us? No! Should this one man be able to halt our bargaining over a matter of the heart? Of course not!”
Selden stepped up to him. “A matter of the heart? A matter of my sister’s life!” He switched his gaze to the dragon. “She is as dear to me as any serpent is to you, Tintaglia. Keep faith with me on this. Show them all that you see my family’s need for her is as pressing as your drive to save your own kind.”
“Silence!” The dragon’s head shot down. A tiny nudge sent Mingsley sprawling to one side. Her eyes fixed on Reyn. “Other dragons? You have seen them?”
“Not yet. But I could find them,” Reyn replied. A faint smile played about his mouth but his eyes were grave and hard. “Provided you do as Selden suggests. Prove that you understand our kin matter as much to us as yours do to you.”
The dragon flung her head up suddenly. Her nostrils flared and her eyes spun wildly. She spoke as if to herself. “Find them? Where?”
Reyn smiled. “I do not fear to tell you. It will take man’s work to unearth them for you. If the Elderkind took cocooned dragons into shelter in one city, perhaps they did in another as well. It is a fair trade, is it not? Restore my love to me, and I shall endeavor to rescue any of your kin who may have survived.”
The dragon’s nostrils flared wide. The glow of her eyes brightened. Her tail lashed with excitement and from outside the walls, Keffria heard the fearful cries of watching folk. But within the walls, Reyn stood still, teetering on the edge of triumph. All around him, folk were frozen into a listening silence.
“Done!” roared the dragon. Her wings twitched, shivering and rustling as if she longed to spring into flight immediately. They stirred the cold night air and sent it whispering past the huddled folk in the roofless building. “These others will make plans for the dredging of the river. You and I will leave at first light, to begin the search for the ancient ruins—”
“No.” Reyn’s reply was quiet but the dragon’s outraged roar rang against the night sky. People cried out in terror and cowered where they stood, but not Reyn. He stood tall and still as the dragon vented her fury.
“Malta first,” Reyn dictated calmly as she drew breath.
“Seek for your female, while my kind lies trapped in the cold and dark? No!” This time the blast of anger from the dragon vibrated the floor beneath Keffria’s feet. Her ears rang with it.
“LISTEN TO ME, DRAGON,” REYN RESUMED CALMLY. “HIGH summer is the time to explore and dig, when the river runs low. Now is the time for us to seek Malta.” As the dragon threw back her head, jaws wide, he shouted up at her, “For this to work, we must negotiate as equals, without threats. Will you be calm, or must we both live with loss?”
Tintaglia lowered her head. Her eyes spun angrily, but her voice was almost civil. “Speak on,” she bade him.
Reyn took a breath. “You will aid me to save Malta. And I will then devote myself to unearthing the Elderling city, not for treasure, but for dragons. That is our agreement. Your bargain with Bingtown is more complicated. The dredging of a river for the protection of their coast, with other stipulations. Would you have it set down in writing, and the agreement acknowledged as binding?” Reyn looked away from the dragon to Devouchet. “I am willing to be bound by my spoken word in this. Will the Council of Bingtown deal likewise?”
Up on the dais, Devouchet glanced about indecisively. Keffria supposed he was rattled to have control put back into his hands. Slowly the Trader drew himself up. To her surprise, he shook his head slowly. “No. What has been proposed tonight will change the life of every person who lives in Bingtown.” The Trader’s eyes traveled gravely over the hushed crowd. “An agreement of this magnitude must be written and signed.” He took a breath. “Moreover, I propose that it must be signed, not just by our leaders, but as we did of old in Bingtown, when every Trader and every member of the Trader’s family set hand to the document. But this time, marks must be made by every person, young and old, who wishes to remain in Bingtown. All who sign will bind themselves, not just to an agreement with the dragon, but to each other.”
A mutter ran through the crowd, but Devouchet spoke on. “Everyone who makes a mark agrees to be bound by the rules of old Bingtown. In turn, each head of a family will gain a vote on the Bingtown Council, as it was of old.” He looked around, including the leaders on the dais. “All must agree that the Bingtown Council’s judgments upon their disputes will be final.” He took a deep breath. “And then, I think, there must be a vote to choose new members of the new Bingtown Council. To assure that every group gains a voice.”
Devouchet’s eyes went back to the dragon. “You, too, must make a mark to signify your agreement. Then the Kendry must be returned to us, and the other liveships summoned back, for without them no workers or materials can be carried upriver. Then you must look at our charts with us, and help us mark out the stretches of the river that we do not know, and show us where this deepening of the river must occur.”
People were nodding, but the dragon gave a loud snort of disgust. “I have no time for this writing and marking! Regard it as done, and let us begin tonight!”
Reyn spoke before anyone else could. “Swift is better; on that you and I agree. Let them set their words to paper. Between you and me, I offer you my word, and I am willing to take yours.”
Reyn took a breath. When he spoke again, he made his tone formal. “Dragon Tintaglia, do we have a bargain?”
“We do,” the dragon replied heavily. Tintaglia looked at Devouchet and the others on the dais. “Set your pen to paper, and do it swiftly. I am bound by my name and not by a mark. Tomorrow, Tintaglia begins to do what she has promised. See that you are as quick to keep your word.”