The walls of the world had retreated. For as far as he could see from Tarman’s deck, they were in an immense slough filled with water plants. Even from the roof of the deckhouse, he gained no vantage or sense of it ever ending. Perhaps this had once been a river system or a lake. Now he wondered if it were not a wide drainage for distant hills, a place of water that was scarcely deeper than a man was tall. Like a flat plate, he thought. He tried not to wonder what might happen when the rains began in earnest. If a deluge started and the water began to rise, there was nowhere for the dragons to retreat. He shook the useless worry from his head, certain that Mercor was aware of it. Daily he led them on, to Kelsingra or death. They’d find out which when they reached there.
He scanned the wide circle of horizon and saw nothing promising. He had never felt he was such a tiny spark of life floating on a twig as he did now. The sky overhead was wide and gray with high clouds. He missed the shady riverbanks he’d known all his life. The light seemed relentless during the day, and on a clear night, the blanket of stars overhead reduced him to insignificance.
Somewhere in the distance a hunting bird, hawk or eagle, screamed a long, lonesome cry. Tats’s dragon roused and lifted her head from where she dozed. She made a questioning sound, but when no response came, she once more tucked her head under her wing. The dragons stood in a huddle, like a flock of exhausted waterfowl, heads tucked to their breasts or resting on the back of an adjacent dragon. It could not have been relaxing sleep for them. They slept on their feet like sailors kept on watch too long. He pitied them but could do nothing for them.
Insects had become more plentiful, but at least on this river, bats abounded by night; and during the day, tiny darting swallows feasted on the mosquitoes and gnats. There was still no lack of stinging, buzzing insects, but watching them be devoured in turn gave him satisfaction.
Habit made him take his pipe out of his coat pocket. He looked at it, turning it in his hands, and then put it away. Not even a shred of tobacco remained anywhere on the boat. It wasn’t the only supply that was exhausted. The sugar was gone, as was the coffee. The tea that remained was more powder than leaf. There were two more casks of ship’s bread. When that was gone, their dependence on what they could hunt and gather as they traveled would be absolute. He scowled and then resolutely shook off his gathering worries.
Where there’s clean water, there’s food, he reminded himself. Fish there were in plenty, and some of the rushes had thick, starchy roots. For the last couple of nights, Carson had been deliberately setting out nets for waterfowl. He hadn’t had much luck yet, but when he did, not if, there’d be roast duck on the menu. Or more likely boiled, he reminded himself, to use less firewood. Large pieces of wood had become scarce of late. They watched avidly for driftwood now, any snag deposited in days of higher water. Until then, all the keepers had the task every evening of gathering as much dried reed-grass as they could. It burned quickly; they gathered bushels every night and twisted it into bundles to try to make it burn longer. Thank Sa the nights had remained mild so far.
Everyone’s clothing was showing the effects of hard use and too much exposure to the acid water of the Rain Wild River. Fabric was fraying away to nothing. Trousers had become shorter as cuffs became patches for knees. Alise had shared out her previously ample wardrobe among the female keepers, offering it even before she was asked. Sedric had followed her example; it was strange to see the keeper lads going about their duties in linen and silk shirts in bright colors. Even so, Leftrin knew it was only postponing the inevitable. For now, they were coping, but eventually a solution would have to be found.
Alise joined him, carrying two steaming mugs with her. She balanced hers on top of the railing and handed one to him. “Tea?” he asked her.
“Yes. Pretty much the last of it. And weak at that.”
“But hot,” he said, and they smiled at each other over the steaming mugs.
They surveyed the horizons of their domain. After a time, she spoke both their minds. “The water gets shallower every day. I have no faith that the dragons know where they are going. In the memories that Tarman showed us, Kelsingra was on the banks of a large river, not a lake like this.”
She said no more. They both sipped their tea and wondered. Wondered if they had followed the wrong branch of the river, wondered what would happen if the water became too shallow for Tarman, wondered if the dragons would demand to turn back. Then Alise put her free hand on the top of Leftrin’s shoulder and he bent his head to trap it between his shoulder and cheek. “I love you,” he said quietly. He hadn’t told her that. Hadn’t thought to say it aloud.
