by LeRoy Clary
She sighed heavily, “All right, if you have to. It isn’t going to be like this the entire trip, is it? I mean, you holding us up.”
“I hope not,” he said, meaning one thing and knowing she heard another.
They squatted in heavy green grass on the side of the road and worked on the packs. He ignored the sweat dripping from the end of her nose. They loosened the straps, distributed the contents more evenly in each bag despite her protests, but he was wise enough to not mention the adjustment increasing the weight in his bag while decreasing hers.
She said with a sharpness that indicated her ire, “I saw your pathetic bow when I watched you at your cabin. Ever manage to hit anything with it?”
He faced her while remaining calm. His father had helped him make the bow, his third creation, and the best of all of them, however, he would readily admit none were very good. The arrows tended to warp and that made them wobble in the air and he had to get very close before hitting anything. His traps caught far more meat for the table than his hunting. “Now and then, mostly by accident,” he responded evenly, trying to maintain peace between them. “I do have to get close.”
She waved one hand to indicate a cabin sitting on a slight rise far ahead of them. “There’s a man up ahead who makes weapons and is famous for his bows. Father said to stop there and get two and to sort of talk around things until the subject of a Green comes up. If it doesn’t, we need to mention it—and somehow work it into the conversation that it is not one belonging to the Dragon Clan.”
“Why?”
“People from all over come to see him and buy his arrows and bows. They talk. He talks. The weapons maker may not know it, but he’s a focal point of information for us, the Dragon Clan. One of many. He spreads truths and rumors to other of our families we don’t know about, let alone where they live. He’s also one of us.”
Rake began to understand. There were social places where people gathered and talked. They were perfect for members of his family to own. Not for the profits, but to trade information and be a point of contact for the Dragon Clan. He said, “The trading post is another place . . .”
She scowled, then giggled in the same irritating manner as when she’d thrown the acorn his way. “Of course, it is. You didn’t know?”
Lying was a poor way to begin a friendship but he considered it. Besides, he knew the truth now, so it was better to admit it up front and let her think she was smarter. “I didn’t know that. Does that mean Beth is one of us?”
“You should have figured that out without being told. It’s so obvious.” She shouldered her pack and bounced it a couple of times to settle it. By way of apology, she said, “The canvas is too stiff. It’ll get softer with a few soakings and then it will stretch to fit.”
Rake did not bother with his. He left it on the ground and sat beside it, his eyes focused in the distance, looking at nothing.
“I didn’t insult you, did I?” she asked.
“No. But we need to talk.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I already told you all you need to know.”
He shook his head slowly but didn’t speak again until he had her full attention. He used a soft voice because that often drew more importance than shouting, his father had once told him. “What I need to know is what I want to know. Look at this from my perspective. You tricked me in the woods, gave me half a story, and expected me to go with you to where? Why? But you have not said where or for how long or given me a chance to talk with my family. You suggested we are all in danger if I don’t do what you say, and more puzzles and half-truths. You speak to me like your child.”
“These are dangerous times, Rake. You sitting here like a spoiled brat does nothing to help me or our families.”
“That’s what you don’t understand. It’s not about you. It is about me and mine. Maybe we should go our own ways. I’ll do what I think is best for my family and you do whatever you want.”
“We can talk while we walk. Get up.”
Her hands were on her hips, a scowl on her face. Rake hadn’t made his point. Or if he had, she either deflected or ignored it. He said, “If I start back now, I can get home before dark and they won’t worry.”
“I don’t understand your problem. Are you scared to leave your home for a few days?”
Rake said, “We can start the conversation with all this stuff you bought at the post. You paid more for it than my family has spent there in a generation. Where did you come by all that?”
“You’re really going to sit there and endanger the entire Dragon Clan while asking where the money for a gift came from?”
“Not necessarily. I will either hear what you know, or I will return home and leave the rucksack here for you to give to your next silent partner.” He waited, and when she didn’t speak right away, he said, “You will either begin talking right now or I will be walking and once I do that, I will not return, no matter what you say.”
“You’re a stubborn ass.”
“Now, Cinder. Talk to me.”
“Can we stop this? I’ll answer all your questions, but please, let me do it while we walk.”
Rake looked at her eyes and found fear. “Are you really that scared?”
She nodded.
“All Right.” He stood and reached for the rucksack. “I guess if I get back home a little after dark it won’t matter too much. How can one Green dragon cause this much trouble?”
She fell into step with him, not trying to outpace him anymore. “If the army from Breslau is coming to take over Oakhaven and these mountains, the logical time to do it would be spring, like now. So, they’ll have all summer to chase us down one by one.”
“They would kill our dragons first as they did at Bear Mountain. Their dragon-masters have trained their Greens to fight and even put sharp metal caps on their claws sharpened like knives. I’ve heard some wore armor over their vital organs.”
She nodded and asked, “If you were them, I mean, the leaders of Breslau, what would you do if you wished to invade us? We have no army, no king, and our land is very small.”
“Do? If it was me that was a leader of Breslau, I’d lay around all day and admire the most beautiful women in the kingdom as they danced for me in revealing outfits while sharing wines of at least five colors. Maybe I’d eat food from strange places—and a lot of it. I’ll tell what I wouldn’t be doing. I wouldn’t be crossing the Brownlands and chasing innocent people with the intent to kill them.”
“Sorry, I didn’t phrase the question right. If they are expanding from Princeton across the Brownlands to the east, what would be their first objective? How would they begin the invasion? Before the first battle?”
Rake walked as he considered the question. The old stories said that before they invaded Princeton, long before, they had placed spies and informants throughout the land. They had closed shipping between the kingdoms, purchased essential businesses in Princeton, and bribed officials. Their next move was obvious. They attacked the Dragon Clan, the only real force that could stand up against them. “After taking control of businesses and bribing people, I’d locate the nesting rooks for our dragons. Then I’d strike them without warning and kill them all.”
“Why is that so important?”
“Dragon Clan villages are always near rookeries so we can care for the dragons. Even while dispersed like now, we all live near our dragons.”
She shifted the pack again. It was obviously too heavy for someone her size. Rake would do a bit more of rearranging if he continued the trip. Despite her objections, he was bigger and stronger. He would insist. He said, “But that’s not us. Since we fled Princeton only a few of us joined with the Dragon Clan that was already living here. But there were too many of us to assimilate and most of us kept going, looking for a safer place to live. Your family, and mine, and most others came all the way to these mountains and spread out, as you know. No more villages that are easy to locate, attack, and defeat. We decided to live secluded.”
; She turned to look at him as if he’d turned ignorant. “So, what you’re really saying is that we need to wait until they invade and kill the Dragon Clan communities that were living here before us, and all of the dragons. If that happens, our families will have time to run away again. Is that what you’re saying?”
Rake didn’t like the tone or implication. His family had fled, not run. There was a difference, but in the confused state of his mind he couldn’t exactly pin it down. “Not at all. I just fail to see an emergency so great we have to leave our homes to investigate it today, without any farewells, planning, or preparation.”
A silence grew between them as they walked, as wide as the river they followed and growing wider with every step.
CHAPTER FOUR
The conversation lagged as they drew closer to the long, low cabin sitting close to the side of the road on a knoll. It was the home of the bow-maker, Cinder had said. The sides were planks, not logs, the roof more sloped than any Rake had seen. A wide, covered porch ran the entire width of the front. There were two doors, one located at either end. A man sat in a chair and calmly watched them approach, a whittling knife in one hand, a length of wood in the other. At his feet, a small pile of shavings indicated he’d been sitting there a long time. He took a sip from a mug and waited.
“Hello,” Cinder called cheerily as they walked nearer.
He slowly stood with the help of a crooked cane, or more accurately, a length of yellow wood carved onto a spiral with images of animals up and down the length. He was older than any person Rake had ever seen, his hair flowed in a white cascade down his bent back that matched the beard that hung in front. He pointed at her with a crooked finger, “Hello, yourself. You might be Cinder and your boyfriend is probably Rake.”
“You heard we were coming?” Rake asked.
“Nope.”
Cinder stepped forward. “Then you must know everyone in the valley, what they look like, and if so, you also know this is not my boyfriend and you are trying to prod us into spilling information by our responses.”
The old man placed both hands over his extended belly as he laughed. “Guilty as charged.”
Rake started to catch on. The man was using common knowledge and guesswork to gather more information. He said, “There are not that many people living in this part of the mountains. The road we came here on ends at the trading post, and if we didn’t pass your place going up there, we had to already be living there. We could only be one of a few people that match the descriptions, given our ages.”
The old man laughed harder.
Cinder turned to Rake. “You’ve only figured out part of it. He’s holding back. There’s more.”
Rake counted on his fingers. “There are maybe a hundred people up that way. I’m the only man my age and my size. Cinder is the only woman her age that wears leathers and has her color hair.”
Cinder flashed a smile and said, “Since you know our names, it’s only fair you tell us yours.”
He stood and slowly pivoted, using his cane to balance as he did so. He said, “My name has changed a time or two in my life, but that’s not uncommon for these parts. You can call me Carver, which is what I do to make my bows and arrows. That is the introduction I give most visitors to my shop, but for a few special ones there is another.”
He pulled to a stop in his slow turn, now facing the doorway to the left side of his cabin. Instead of walking inside as Rake expected, he looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone and that they were watching him as he reached behind and lifted the back of his shirt. The image of a curled dragon faced them, one more kindly than vicious. He said, all trace of humor gone from his voice, “I’m the eldest son of Willa and Helm. I also heard about the Green that flew over, heading right where the two of you live, so expected visitors from up-valley to arrive about now on their way to investigate.”
After a stunned reaction, both of them belatedly spun and lifted their shirts in the old manner of greeting and identification—and identified their families.
He said, “I suppose you’re going to look for the origin of that damn Green dragon, so you’ll need good weapons. Follow me.”
He continued inside without waiting for a response.
Cinder whispered, “He’s not exactly what I expected.”
“I didn’t even know the man existed, but remember when you said I ‘should’ have known about those at the trading post? The same goes here . . . for you. If your father hadn’t told you, would you have known? What a perfect setup to gather information for one of our clan.” Rake stepped up on the weathered porch and entered the doorway.
Inside, on the left, the wall was lined with bows hanging from a rack. Arrows hung upside down in neat rows on the next wall, and leather sheaths for bows and smaller ones for arrows were piled on shelves. On the counter directly ahead were various points for the arrow shafts, some chipped glass, others made of chipped stone, and even barbed metal.
On the right was also a workshop. A series of pullies and ropes connected to a canvas covering opened the roof to let daylight stream inside where several foot-powered lathes sat alongside drawknives, shavers, shapers, metal stays, and shelves of wood blanks that were drying. An open stone firepit sat in the center where a small curl of smoke found the opening in the roof. While the fire added a familiar scent, the piles of sawdust and shavings from several species of wood provided smells that overpowered all others.
Carver settled himself on a work-stool that appeared twice his age. The legs were cracked, the seat discolored with age and use, and the entire thing was covered in nicks, cuts, dings, and scrapes. He wouldn’t have to worry about damaging it while he worked.
He motioned to the bows and said to Rake, “The ones on the left have less pull. Arrows won’t go as far, but children need to start early to be good archers and develop the strength required. The far right near the end is where you’ll probably choose to go since you’re young and proud, but they’re for experienced men who’ve pulled a bow for years and have built up their muscles.”
“So, I should go to the middle,” Rake said with more than a little challenge.
“A wise member of our Dragon Clan would.”
Rake flashed a smile as he headed directly for the right-hand side. “Don’t worry, I’ve used a bow for years.”
Cinder said, “I do not have an ego or need to show off like young men, so where do I begin?”
“In the middle-left. Try the pull on one and we’ll go from there.” Carver’s amused eyes still watched Rake. The wrinkles at the corners told of his love of humor.
Rake reached for a bow, noting the husky main branch between the thinner limbs. It was heavier than he expected, and the strings hanging nearby were obviously there to use. Not all of the bows were new. He glanced at Carver and got a nod to string the bow.
Rake stood taller than most men, his chest was large, his arms rippled with muscles from carrying, chopping, cutting, digging, and other daily chores. He slipped a loop over one end and placed the bow on the floor. He used his upper body to bend it and slipped on the loop over the other end. The bows at home had been nothing like the one in his hands. He could string them with one hand.
He held the bow up to the light and admired. It was a work of art compared to what he’d used before, nicer than any he’d ever seen. The grip was covered in thin leather to prevent slipping in sweaty hands, an arrow guide would both provide a place to rest the arrow and allow the user to know the center of the bow, where a shot was strongest and most accurate. He hefted the bow and pulled back on the string.
It moved less than the width of his hand . . . and stopped. He pulled harder. It barely moved.
Rake ignored the snicker from Cinder. He turned to Carver. “Really?”
“Unstring it and replace it. Move to your left, somewhere near Cinder.”
He started to explain he needed a bow with a much harder pull than the tiny girl but was tired of her laughter directed at him. He decided to d
o as told and then after demonstrating his strength, he’d move back to the heavier bows where he belonged.
He moved to her side and selected one at random, using the same string as before, he strung it. He lifted it and drew the string back. It took all the strength he had to maintain the position, and his arms immediately started shaking. He relaxed the string in confusion.
Cinder had strung a bow and managed to pull it, but almost dropped it as she let it return.
Carver said to her, “Let him try that one.”
She reluctantly handed him the bow. He drew it and managed to hold it for a full breath. Carver said, “That one will do for you. Your arm will grow stronger over time, so don’t worry that it hurts right now.”
The row of hanging bows was about ten steps long, with a bow the distance of his foot from the next in line, so probably fifty bows in all hung for display. Not all of them were new, Rake noted. A few were dinged, scared, and scratched. Others had been used, but not as much. He turned to Carver. “Where do the used bows come from? People sell them to you?”
“No. I made all that you see. A lifetime of work is hanging in front of you. Not at the same time, of course. As people grow stronger, they bring my bows back and trade them one that better suits their needs. When they die, the bows often come back. You will return the bows you take, if possible, and tell me how well they served you. You will also return when you need a replacement for whatever reason.”
“I don’t understand,” Rake said.
Cinder stuck an elbow in Rake’s ribs and said, “He does not sell bows to Dragon Clan. They are gifts. Loans.”
“Oh.”
Carver said to Cinder, “If I may, there is a bow two steps to your left you might be interested in.”
She moved her hand along the row. “Here?”
He smiled. “Yes, I think you’ll like that one. String it while I tell you of the previous owner, also a woman.”
Rake watched her and his eyes found the leather grip stained by the dirt and sweat of another hand, a few nicks and scratches indicated its previous use, but otherwise, it appeared almost new. He turned to Carver.
