‘Leftrin!’

He started at his name and saw by Carson’s face that he’d been trying to talk to him. ‘Sorry. Too long with no sleep,’ he said gruffly.

The hunter nodded sympathetically and rubbed at his own bloodshot eyes. ‘I know. We’re all tired. We’re damn lucky that tired is all we are. You’re a bit beat up, and Eider may have a few cracked ribs, but by and large, we came through it intact. And we all know that we’ll rest later. For right now, this is what I propose. My boat stayed with the Tarman; luckily I’ve the habit of bringing it aboard and lashing it down each night. I propose I take the spare ship’s horn and set out on my own. I’ll shoot down the river a ways, fast as I can, and then go right along the shore and search under the trees. You follow, but taking your time and searching carefully. Every so often, I’ll blow three long blasts, just like Davvie, to let you know where I am and that I’m still searching. If either of us finds anything, we’ll use three short blasts to call the other.’

Leftrin listened grimly. He knew what Carson was implying. Bodies. He’d be looking for bodies, and for survivors in such poor condition that they could not signal their rescuers. It made sense. Tarman had been proceeding very slowly, first moving up the river to approximately where the wave had first struck them and then back down again, searching both the river’s face and the shoreline. Carson’s little boat could catch the current and shoot swiftly down to where they had begun to search and move downriver from there, searching the shallows.

‘Do you need anyone with you?’

Carson shook his head. ‘I’d rather leave Davvie safe here with you. And I’ll go alone. If I find anyone, the boat’s small, and I’ll want to bring them on board right away.’

‘Three short blasts will mean we’ve found something. Even if it’s only a body?’

Carson thought then shook his head. ‘Neither of us can do anything for a body. No sense one of us summoning the other, and taking a chance on missing a survivor. I’ll want some oil and one of the big cook-pots. If we don’t meet up before nightfall, I’ll pull in, make a fire in the pot, and overnight there. The fire will keep me warm and serve as a beacon to anyone who might see it. And if I find someone near nightfall, I can use the horn and the fire-pot to guide you to us.’

Leftrin nodded ‘Take a good supply of rations and water. If you find anyone, they may be in bad shape. You’ll need them.’

‘I know.’

‘Good luck, then.’

‘Sa’s blessing on you.’

Such words coming from the hunter made Leftrin feel even grimmer. ‘Sa’s blessing,’ he replied, and watched the man turn and go. ‘Please, please, find her,’ he whispered, and then went back up on deck to put his own eyes on the river.

As he joined his crew on the deck, he felt their sympathy for him. Swarge, Bellin, Hennesey and hulking Eider were silent and looked aside from him, as if ashamed they could not give him what he wanted. Skelly came to his side and took his hand. He glanced down at her, seeing his niece for a moment instead of his deckhand when she met his gaze. She gave his rough hand a small squeeze; her pinched mouth and a quick nod of her head let him know that she shared his concern. With no more than that, she left him and went back to her watching post. They were a good crew, he thought with a tight throat. Without a quibble, they had followed him on this jaunt up the river into unknown territory. Part of it was because that was the type of riverfolk they were; curious, adventurous and confident of their skills. But a good part of it was that they would go where he and Tarman went. He commanded their lives. Sometimes that knowledge humbled him.

He wondered why he had bothered being evasive with Carson. The man was no fool. The crew’s charade would not have fooled him for long. He knew the boat was sentient, and if he’d had any doubts, Tarman’s rescue of him last night would have dispersed them. When he’d shouted, the barge had come straight to him, and despite the current, had held himself steady in the river until his captain was safe aboard him again.

Wrapped in a blanket but still dripping, shivering, he’d gone into the galley. ‘Is Alise all right?’ he’d demanded, and the faces of his crew had told him all.

He hadn’t slept since then. And he wouldn’t sleep until he found her.

The tangle of floating debris was both too thick and not solid enough.

Relpda had carried him to it. Once she had got close to it, she had pushed her way into it like a spoon pushing through thick soup. Driftwood and matted brambles, leafy branches and long-dead logs, freshly torn trees and wads of grasses had given way to her shoving and then closed up behind her. Chesting against the mess, she had either judged it solid or close enough, for she had dropped him. He’d fallen from her jaws athwart a couple of floating logs and started to slip between them. His stiff limbs had screamed as he frantically moved them, thrashing and crawling until he was on the larger and thicker of the logs. There he had clung, and felt how it bobbed in the current. Worse, he felt how it shifted and threatened to break away from the tangled mess along the shoreline as the frantic dragon pawed and bumped at it as she attempted to clamber on top of it.

‘It won’t hold you, Relpda. Stop. Stop tearing it apart. You can’t get on top of this, it’s just floating bits of wood and reeds.’ He moved away from her to a part of the raft that her struggles were not affecting so violently. He could feel her rising panic coupled with her weariness and despair. She was tired, and he knew guiltily that if she had abandoned him, her reserves of strength would have been much greater. He wondered again why she had saved him at obvious cost to herself.

Then he wondered why he was doing nothing to save her.

There was a quick and guilty answer to that. Once she had drowned, she’d be out of his head forever. He’d know his thoughts were completely his own again. When he went back to Bingtown, he could live just as he always had and—

He thrust his selfishness aside. He was never going back to Bingtown. He was on a raft of debris over an acidic river. He inspected his stinging arms; the exposed skin looked like cured meat. No telling what the rest of him looked like and he was too cowardly to look. A shudder of chill ran over him. He hugged himself and tried to consider the incomprehensible situation he found himself in. Everything he had depended on in this savage place was gone. No ship, no crewmen, no hunters. No supplies of any kind. Alise was probably already dead, her body floating in the river somewhere. Sorrow smote him; he tried to push it aside. He had to clear his mind, or he’d join her.

What was he going to do? He had no tools, no fire, no shelter, no food and no knowledge of how to get any of that for himself. He looked at the copper. He’d told her the truth. He had no idea of how he could save her. If the dragon died, the river would wash her away, and then he would die, too. Probably slowly. And alone. With no way to move up or down the river.

Right now, the dragon represented his only chance of getting out of here. She was his only ally. She’d risked her life for him. And asked so little of him in return.

Relpda gave a short trumpet, and he looked back at her. She’d pushed her way deeper into the floating wreckage. She’d hooked one of her forelegs over the end of a substantial log and was struggling to lift her other front leg over, but she was at the narrow end of the long, dead tree. As she put her weight on it, the log bobbed under. The log was threatening to slip out from under her and shoot up into the air. And the danger was great that she would sink beneath the floating debris.

‘Relpda, wait. You need to centre yourself on the log. Wait. I’m coming.’ He stared at her situation, trying to think how to remedy it. Sinking dragon, floating wood. He wondered if his weight on the high end of the log would be enough to hold it down while she put the other leg over.