Someone grabbed her from behind.
“Let go!” she roared and pushed the butt of the spear back hard, thudding it solidly into whoever had seized her. She heard a whoosh of exhaled breath and then a faint curse. She didn’t turn, for the thud had nearly dislodged her fish. She flipped up the spear end, bracing the butt against her hip and was astounded at the size of the fish she levered out of the river. Thrashing wildly, the fish actually drove the spear deeper and then through its own body. Her prey was nearly half the length of her body and it came sliding down the spear shaft toward her.
“Don’t lose him. Keep hold of your spear!” Tats shouted from behind her.
“I’ve got him,” she snarled, irritated that he would think she needed his help. Despite her words, he reached past her shoulder and seized the other end of the spear. Between them, they held it horizontally while the fish struggled wildly. Then Tats produced a knife in his free hand and whacked the fish soundly on the head with the back of the blade. Abruptly it was still. She breathed a sigh of relief. It felt as if her shoulder had nearly been jolted from its socket.
Still gripping her end of the spear, she turned to thank him, and was astonished to find they were not alone. The Bingtown woman’s friend was sitting on a hummock of root, his hands clasped over his midsection. His face was red save for where his mouth was pinched tight and white. He gazed at her with narrowed eyes and then spoke in a tight voice. “I was trying to help you. I thought you were going to fall in.”
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I saw him going into the forest where you had gone and thought he was following you. So I came to see what he was up to.” Tats was the one who answered her question.
“I’m able to take care of myself,” she pointed out to him.
Tats refused to take offense. “I know that. I didn’t interfere when you thumped him. I only helped you with the fish because I didn’t want to see it get away.”
She made an impatient noise and focused on the stranger. “Why did you follow me?” Tats gripped the spear to either side of the fish, grinning. She let him take the weight of it but watched closely as he set her catch down on the matted roots.
“You knocked the wind out of me,” the stranger complained, and then managed to take a fuller, deeper breath. He uncurled slightly and some of the redness went out of his face. “I only followed you because I wanted to talk to you. I’d seen you with the dragon, the one that Alise is interested in. I wanted to ask you a few things.”
“Such as?” A blush betrayed her. He probably thought she was some half-savage Rain Wild primitive. She was starting to think she had misjudged him, but she wasn’t going to apologize just yet. Actually, she was beginning to hope she had misjudged him. Earlier she had noticed how polished he was. She had never seen a man dressed so well as this one was. Now that his color was settling, she realized he was extremely handsome. Earlier, when he had been talking with the Bingtown woman, she had thought him stuffy and horribly ignorant of dragons, not to mention arrogant and rude when he spoke to her. His beauty had just seemed a part of the insult, the power that gave him the authority to look down on her. But he’d followed her and actually tried to help her. For which she’d thudded a spear butt into his belly.
But now he made up for many of his sins when he gave her a rueful smile and said, “Look, we got off to a bad start. And I don’t suppose I made things better when I startled you. I was insulting when I first spoke to you, but you must admit, you weren’t exactly courteous to me. And you are now one up on me for nearly impaling me on the dull end of a fishing spear.” He paused, took a deep breath, and his color almost became normal. “Can we begin again, please?”
Before she could reply, he stood, bowed at the waist to her, and said, “How do you do? My name is Sedric Meldar. I’m from Bingtown, and ordinarily my daily work is to be a secretary to Trader Finbok of Bingtown. But for this month, I am accompanying Trader Finbok’s wife, Alise, as her chronicler and protector as she seeks to amass new and exciting knowledge about dragons and Elderlings.”
Thymara found herself smiling before his speech was halfway out. He spoke so formally yet in a way that let her know he was mocking the formality and the grandness of his work. He was dressed like a prince, with not a hair out of place, and yet his smile and easy ways invited her to feel comfortable with him. As if they were equals, she realized.
“What’s a chronicler?” Tats demanded abruptly.
“I write down what she does. Where she goes, the gist of her conversations, and sometimes, when she is doing research, I write down in detail what she learns. Later, she’ll be able to look back over what I’ve written to be sure she is remembering every detail correctly. I’m also a passable artist and intended to do sketches of the dragons, detailed sketches of their eyes, claws, teeth, and well, every part of them. Only today I discovered that I’m not going to be much use to her for the interviewing part of her work. I seem to have offended the dragon, which means that I can’t be with Alise while she is studying her. And even if I could be, I couldn’t understand any of the animal’s answers to Alise’s questions.”
