Dragon Haven (Rain Wild Chronicles #2)

Dragon Haven (Rain Wild Chronicles #2) Page 64

He felt a touch of warmth and then a tiny message. Serve me? He felt her relaxing her struggles. It was pitiful, how quickly she put her belief in him. His wet clothes clung and chafed his red skin as he awkwardly moved from log to wedged driftwood to log. None of it was stable, and often he had but a moment to find his next step as his perch sank under him. But he reached the tangled roots of her log and seized hold of them. The log was long enough and he was far enough away from her that he thought his small weight might lever her greater one. He started to climb up on the root mass, to see if her end would rise. Then he realized his error. He needed to lower her end of the log to get it under her, not raise it. He suddenly wished he had more experience with this sort of thing. He’d never been a man who worked with his hands and back, and he’d taken pride in that. His mind and his manners had earned him his keep. But if he didn’t learn, right now, how to help, then his dragon was going to die.

“Relpda, my glorious copper queen. Be very still. I am going to try to lift my end and shove the log under your chest. When it comes up, it may lift you a bit.”

His scheme worked poorly. Whenever he tried to lift the floating end of the log, whatever he was standing on sank. Once he nearly lost his balance and fell under the floating tangle. He succeeded in moving the log slightly more under her chest, but when he gave up the task, her position was only marginally better than it had been. When she stopped kicking, she sank, but her back and head remained above the water. She fixed her eyes on him. He looked into them. Spinning pools, dark blue against copper. The colors in them were liquid. It reminded him of the shifting colors of her blood in the glass vial. Guilt stabbed him. How had he ever done such a monstrous thing?

Tired, she mooed at him. The sound beat against his ears, and the sensation of her exhaustion flooded his mind, weakening his knees. He braced himself against it, and he tried to send warmth and encouragement back to her.

“I know, my queen, my lovely one. But you must not give up. I’m doing my best, and I will help you.” His weary mind weighed and discarded options. Push smaller pieces of wood under her. No. They’d simply dislodge. Or he’d fall in.

She shifted her front feet, seeking a better purchase. The end of the log lifted, splashed down again, and she nearly lost it. More debris broke from the edge of the mat and floated away in the river’s hungry current. “Don’t struggle, lovely one. The log you are on might break free of the others. Stay as still as you can while I think.”

The wave of warmth that flowed through him stilled his worrying. For a moment, he was flushed with pleasure, and he felt a stirring of emotion, like infatuation. As quickly as it had come, it faded. He clenched his hands. What had Alise called it? The dragon glamour. It felt good. Intoxicating and alive. Nearly, he reached after it and willed himself into it. Then she thrashed again, and once more he nearly fell into the water. No. He had to keep his distance and his own mind if he was to help her. A darker reason to stay separate came to him. If he let her join her thoughts too deeply with his thoughts and then she drowned—He shuddered to think of sharing that experience.

He looked at the dragon, at the sky to estimate his time, and around at the trees. The trees, he decided, would represent their best chance. It would be hard work, but if he could rearrange the debris so that the current braced the heavier logs tight to the trees, and then get her to move herself there, she might find a sturdier position. He looked at her, waited until she was looking at him, and then tried to push his mental image into her mind. “Lovely queen, I will move wood and make a safer place for you. Until I am finished, do not struggle. Hang there and trust me. Can you do that?”

Slipping.

“I’ll hurry. Don’t give up.”

“I’ll be damned,” someone exclaimed in amused astonishment.

Sedric spun, his heart leaping with joy at the sound of a human voice. He slipped, caught his balance, and then squinted into the dimness under the trees.

“Up here.” The man’s voice was a hoarse croak.

He moved his eyes up and saw a man clambering down a tree trunk. His hands gripped the ridges of bark, and he stuck the toes of his boots in the cracks as he came quickly down. It wasn’t until he turned to face him that Sedric recognized him. It was the hunter, the older one. Jess. That was his name. They’d never spoken much. Jess plainly had no use for him, and he’d never explained his one visit to Sedric’s chamber. The man looked terrible, bruised and battered in the face, but he was alive and human and company.

And, Sedric quickly realized, he was someone who knew how to get food and water, someone who could help him survive. Sa had answered his prayers after all.