It was not a retreat, she thought angrily as she stalked haughtily away. She was simply not interested in anything either of them might do or say. She would not allow the males to fight over her on the ground, as if such an earthbound battle could prove something or win favor with her. No. When the time came, she would soar in flight, and all the males, every one of them, would vie for her and beat one another bloody in an attempt to catch her eye. And when they were eliminated to one, then she would outfly and defy him. Mercor would never master her.
“PERHAPS YOU COULD reason with him.”
Leftrin glared at Skelly. She folded her lips and turned away. He wasn’t angry with her, but the idea that Tarman could be reasoned with only irritated him. He’d gone out on deck in the morning to discover that the barge had only hunkered down deeper into the mud in the night. Leftrin had had every hand he could muster straining to shove the ship off for half the morning. It was impossible to ignore that the barge was deliberately resisting efforts to move him. Every member of the crew knew it; the confusion and worry were painted in their eyes.
The keepers were beginning to pick up on the uneasiness. It was strange for him to realize that every one of them must know that Tarman was a liveship, but so few of them seemed to grasp fully what that meant. They seemed to have forgotten that at his core, Tarman was kin to the dragons and just as capable of being cantankerous. Or dangerous.
Leftrin glanced over at Skelly, who was not looking at him. She had her pole over the side again, positioned and ready for when he might demand another effort from them. He pitched his voice for her ears alone. “I’ll try. You come with me.”
“Hold on to this for me, will you?” she asked Bellin, surrendering her pole to her crewmate. She followed her captain forward. “He showed us Kelsingra,” she whispered. “Why would he do that, and then wedge himself in the mud here? Why would he make us want to go there, and then refuse to budge?”
“I don’t know, but I do know we’re wasting daylight. It won’t be long before the dragons decide they’re ready to go, and we have to be ready to follow them. Not stuck in the mud.”
“What happened with the dragons earlier this morning?”
“No idea. Some sort of a dustup. Not too serious, I suspect, as it was over so fast. Probably just a bit of sorting out as to who’s on top. Happens in any group of creatures, animal or humans. Or dragons.”
He heard his own words and realized a truth he hadn’t before. Dragons were not animals to him in the way that deer or birds were animals. But they weren’t humans, either. It suddenly seemed a very large truth to him. When he had been a boy growing up, he had divided creatures that lived and moved into two groups: animals and humans. And now there were dragons in his life. When, he wondered, had that distinction formed in his mind? When they had begun this expedition, they had been animals to him. Oddly intelligent animals who spoke. But now they were dragons, not animals and not humans.
And what about Tarman, then?
He’d reached the bow and been on the point of putting his hands on the railing. Skin to wood, he’d always felt, was how he heard Tarman best. But now he folded his arms and stood, reordering his thoughts, wondering just how much of them he wanted his ship to know. Tarman reached right into his dreams with apparent ease. How much of his day-to-day thoughts was the ship aware of?
Skelly already had her hands on the railing. “Kelsingra was beautiful,” she said quietly. “The best place I could imagine. I wanted to be there. I want to be traveling to Kelsingra now. So, Tarman, old friend, why are we stuck here in the mud? What’s the problem?”
She didn’t expect a direct answer to her query. Neither did Leftrin. Direct answers were not in a dragon’s nature, and that, Leftrin suddenly knew, was what he was dealing with here. He was as much a keeper as any of the youngsters were. Only his dragon had the form of a barge. He was reaching for the railing to put his hands on it when Tarman answered. The whole ship lurched. With a surprised curse, Leftrin’s reach for the railing became a grab. He hung on, hearing the confused shouts from the crew and the keepers aboard as Tarman lurched again. And again. The ship heaved up and settled, heaved up and settled. He could imagine those squat wizardwood legs and the finned feet shoving and shifting, not unlike a toad resettling itself in the mud. But with every heave and lurch, the Tarman was shifting his bow.
“What is going on?” Greft was grabbing at the railing as he came staggering down the deck. His teeth were bared behind his narrow silver lips as if he were in pain.
“Don’t know. Hang on,” Leftrin said sharply. Something was happening with his ship, and he wanted to focus his attention on Tarman, not some cocky young man.