by LeRoy Clary
“You didn’t tell me what ‘calling down dragons’ means.”
“We can speak more of that at a later time. Tell me about the beating.”
“Some boys from the training place chased me. Today, there was a new one leading them. He’s meaner than the others.”
“How many in all?”
Camilla shrugged, reluctant to tell more. Already she had told this woman more personal information than she had told anyone in memory.
“Can you count?” The washerwoman snapped.
“Five.”
The old woman scowled, then used the large paddle to swirl around a garment in the scalding water and satisfied with the progress, lifted it with the paddle to a cauldron with cold water. She had several containers of water, with clothing soaking in each, waiting its turn. “Five? You can’t fight five trainees by yourself. They’re older, I suppose. Bigger? Dressed in tan uniforms?”
“Yes.”
“Damned, second sons from fathers of wealthy families. They’ll soon be officers in the king’s army ordering peasants around as if they’re better than any of us.”
Camilla nodded as if she had heard it all before.
“Listen to me, girl. They’re scared, too. I see it in their eyes when they bring me laundry, and I hear them talking to each other. Scared of the future. Rich boys sent from their homes to learn the art of soldiering or becoming priests because only the firstborn will inherit the family wealth and position.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re nothing. You have no job and no future. You don’t even have a family. Those second sons beat you because they can. They have all the power and you have none. Boys in their position can kill you, and nobody will care, other than maybe someone scolding them and telling them not to kill any more hapless wildlings. You are nothing. That makes them feel superior by default. Understand?”
Camilla nodded slowly, not understanding at all.
“Best to just stay out of their way, which I guess you already try doing. No matter, I’m going to teach you a few things about how to survive long enough to grow taller than me. That won't be long because I’m a short woman.” She cackled again, spit a wad of brown in an arc, and hung another sopping wet blouse on a nearby clothesline.
Camilla could have slipped away, but Robin’s words piqued her interest. Robin knew things about her that she didn’t know about herself. She said, “They’re bigger than me, and they train to fight at their military school.”
“They do all that and more at that fancy school of theirs. They think you’re a boy, not a girl. Keep it that way. At your age, a wild girl will attract all sorts of men looking for romance and more. The boys learn to fight with swords, and they yearn to use their skills. To them, you’re no more than a painted practice target pinned to a tree unless they learn of your sex.”
“I can’t run away all the time.”
“They’re lazy and spoiled. Let me ask you, have they ever trained in the rain or snow? No. On those days, they sit inside their buildings beside warm fires and learn from speakers or books. Even on the best days, they’re often sitting inside learning from books. Others cook their food, wash their clothing, and scrub their floors. Do you see your opportunity?”
“No. I only see they’re bigger. And there are more of them.”
Robin smiled, a wistful expression briefly crossing her features, making her appear years younger despite her brown teeth and wrinkled skin. She sat on a stump beside Camilla and leaned closer. “I’ll tell you a story in confidence and then we will each know a secret about the other. A long time ago, there was once a man I loved. He told me of his wild youth, much like yours. He said that a bigger, stronger fighter, one better trained, will win any fight. But there are three variables in that statement, do you see?”
Camilla shook her head.
“Think, girl. Bigger, stronger, better trained. Can you make yourself bigger?”
“No.”
“Wrong answer. You make yourself bigger by living another day. Every day you grow a little bigger. How about stronger? Can you make yourself stronger?”
This time, Camilla didn’t answer. She sat as still as the log she sat upon and waited, confident that Robin would supply the correct answer.
“Girl, when you work hard you grow stronger. The blacksmith in Nettleton was once a skinny little boy. I remember him well. He grew powerful working hard. Day after day, year after year.”
“I won’t have those years ahead of me if they kill me, first.”
“Finally, a good response from one so young. If you apply yourself and do as I say, you will live long enough to grow both bigger and stronger. The third variable is training. Do you believe those rich boys train as hard as they might? No, they don’t. They have never worked a full day in their pampered lives.”
“How does that matter?”
“You can learn to fight too, girl. Work harder at it than they do. Make yourself stronger. Winter has passed, and the trees are budding. Some leaves are already opening. Up the valley lives a man who has sheep and goats. He needs herders to bring them down-valley for spring shearing and butchering. I know this man. On my word, he will feed you, and perhaps even put a few copper coins in your purse.”
“I’ll go see him, maybe.”
“You will go see him. No argument from you. That’s settled.” Robin placed a few more sticks on the fire under the pot and grabbed another handful of dirty clothes. After placing them in the pot and stirring, she added soap and said, “Yes, I also require payment of you for this favor. You must perform a few tasks for me.”
“I’ll do them.”
“Make no promises you cannot keep. The trip will take you many days, then more to gather the animals and return. The man will pay you what he will. But, I demand more of you.” She motioned for Camilla to sit still while she went into a shed and rummaged around. When she returned, she held a pole taller than herself and larger in diameter than a fat man’s thumb.
Camilla expected her to use it for washing clothes, but instead Robin twirled it around her head as if it was weightless, then spun her body around, and with both hands sliding to one end she struck a tree holding a line loaded with clean clothes. The clothing shook, but not before she danced intricate steps and jabbed the end of the pole at the wall of the shed with a resounding thwack.
Flashing a smile at Camilla, the pole spun in more circles above her head before lowering it to chest height in a swift movement. She held it near the center of the pole with both hands. Short jabs smacked the side of the shed, first with one end, then the other, again and again until the shed had been struck at least ten times.
She turned to Camilla, holding the pole in one sweaty hand, and panting, but still wearing the smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve used one of these. When I was younger, you couldn’t follow my moves with your eyes.” She held the pole closer to Camilla until she accepted it. From inside Robin’s skirt, a small, unadorned knife appeared in her palm. The old woman held it out, handle first. “Take this, too. You’re going to need it for protection.”
Camilla held the knife in one hand and the pole in the other, one end of the pole resting on the ground.
“Hide the knife in a place where you can draw it fast.”
“The pole?”
“Carry it with you. Get used to it. Swing it and strike a few trees or boulders. Return both to me tomorrow. Early.”
“You want me to come back?”
Robin fixed her with a stern look. “I do. Your wounds need checking.”
“If I run fast enough from those boys, I will be fine.”
“Better yet, stay out of their sight.” She turned her back and grabbed another armload of dirty clothing and placed them in a tub to soak.
She continued speaking, but Camilla used the time to silently slip back into the depths of the forest shadows.
CHAPTER TWO
The sheriff of Charleston adjusted his velvet robes and settled into the or
nate chair he used the first of every ten-day. The other chairs were worn and creaked with age. He tried to keep to the same schedule the peasants observed. One day for each of his ten fingers. This, the first day, was for planning the next nine.
As he raised his eyes to scan those of the other six seated men, he ignored the worthless aides and peasant villagers standing against the wall. Choosing who sat and who stood at the wall demonstrated his power, almost as powerful as that of royalty, just on a smaller scale. The massive ceiling beams had blackened with soot from candles over the years and hung low enough so that a tall man such as the sheriff had to duck. The walls wore a new coat of whitewash, and the floors retained the natural granite color they had since the day they were laid, more than four hundred years ago. Only three small, high windows allowed shafts of sunlight to stream in. Sounds echoed and bounced off the hard surfaces, making them officious and hollow sounding, somehow pleasing to his ear.
He spoke casually and softly, as was his sly and crafty manner. Talking soft and pleasant while meaning the opposite allowed him to amuse himself with his subordinates. “What do you have to report this day?” His gaze slowly fell on Tomas, his longtime, right-hand man. Tomas handled the mundane details.
The sheriff was pleased to notice that even after all these years, Tomas still flinched at his voice. “Sir, the border feud continues to escalate between Fox Lair and Cedar Crest. I suggest dispatching two of your deputies. They should resolve the situation in a few days.”
The sheriff waited for Tomas to continue, and when he didn’t, the sheriff tapped his foot in irritation. Tomas should know what to do by now. “Yes, yes, my men can certainly calm them down and settle the dispute, but what of it? How does that benefit me?”
Tomas didn’t answer.
“Now, let us imagine the two houses actually come to blows. A few peasants are killed in battle. Then I would be forced to step in and take total control of both houses—for their own safety. God knows for how long I’d have to manage those forsaken remote estates to ensure our good King receives his proper taxes.”
Tomas almost smiled as he said, “For doing this important service for the crown, you would require substantial compensation. From both houses.”
“By now I shouldn’t have to explain this to you. Dispatch a man, one who will stir the pot, so to speak. Have him tie small strips of red ribbon down the disputed border, making the line favor one house or the other, it matters not which. Observe the dispute as it escalates the following day. Spread rumors favoring one house or the other at a local inn. Then attend another inn and repeat the story of the other house. See that it is done, Tomas.”
The sheriff’s attention shifted to the next of his men at the table, a dour-faced executive good at overseeing the construction of public works, bridges, roads, and buildings. His particularly useful skill lay in purchasing materials at one price and paying another while profiting from the difference and leaving no trail for the king’s auditors to sniff out. Of course, if they did, it would lead straight to him and not the sheriff. The punishment would be swift and severe.
Each official at the table gave his report in turn. Nothing out of the ordinary was reported until it came to Edward, son of Witten, the Earl. Although eldest of the five sons, he remained young in both spirit and appearance and was easily excited. His beard had yet to flush out. He had been appointed a minister to the sheriff by the King only last winter and to date had accomplished nothing of note.
He cleared his throat, and his voice quavered. “S-sir, I have heard rumors of a boy of the Dragon Clan in our kingdom.”
The sheriff drew himself up in his chair, knowing that if he stood, he would tower any man in his suite of offices, which he often did just to intimidate and keep order in his first-day hearings. Now he only wanted more information. His body gaunt, his face a mask of sharp planes without the softness of curves. In his desire to withhold his excitement, his voice softened even more than normal. “Where?”
“Near Nettleton, sir. There’s an academy for the second sons of minor nobles and a few sons of wealthy merchants.”
“He is one of the students?”
“No. They say he’s a wildling child.”
“A wildling. Interesting description. Age?” The sheriff snapped.
“I’ve been informed he appears to be no more than twelve or thirteen.”
The sheriff’s eyes roamed the table as if seeking additional information. Deciding nothing else need be discussed this morning, he stood and spun so that his robes flared out and the gold trim sparkled as he stalked away. Over his shoulder he called, “You all have work to do. Get to it. Edward, please come into my office. We have business to discuss behind a closed door.”
Weak in the knees, Edward stood while he avoided meeting the eyes of the other ministers. Entering the sheriff’s office seldom boded well. Those who lingered when summoned paid dearly. He shouldered his way past the few remaining men in the room and managed to reach the door only a step behind the sheriff.
The sheriff waved toward a vacant chair with short legs, as he moved to a sideboard that was struggling to stand upright under the weight of delicacies. Smoked meats and fish filled a silver plate while breads laden with butter and colorful jams occupied a sterling platter at one end. The other end held a twin platter of sliced cheeses and thin-breads. On a stout side table stood four decanters of various red wines surrounded by crystal stemware.
“Wine?” the sheriff asked, his voice as sweet as the contents of any crystal container.
Edward looked confused at the offer, which pleased the sheriff. “May I pour you a glass? Have you ever sampled smoked salmon? I know it’s rare in these lands, but I have my sources.”
“I-I would like to sample it.”
Stealing another glance at Edward as he reached for a few slices of pink fish, the sheriff smiled. The boy was rightly terrified and would tell all. After delicately placing the fish on a plate, he decided Edward might be more comfortable with slices of cold beef and added those. He splashed a generous amount of wine from grapes grown so far away that it took a hundred days to walk there. He didn’t particularly like the wine, but the difficulty in procuring it demonstrated his wealth and power, and he did like that.
This wildling child of the Dragon Clan provided a perfect set of circumstances to teach the boy who was really in charge of the kingdom. Later, when Edward replaced his father as Earl, he’d remember and respect the sheriff. It is not always about the title, but power.
After serving Edward the snacks, the sheriff carried a sweet roll and a glass of wine to his chair behind the desk large enough to intimidate any who sat before it. “I did not wish to discuss this subject in public. Tell me all that you have heard of this dragon boy. Is the source reliable? Have you managed to confirm any portion of the rumor?”
Edward told his story in rushes interrupted only by halting breaks, long enough to draw deep breaths. The plate of exotic foods sat untouched.
When he paused, the sheriff said, noticing the boy had eaten nothing. “More salmon or wine? Bread to cleanse your palate?”
Edward glanced at his full glass of wine and gulped it half down, ignoring the salmon and beef, then shook his head, declining more food.
“Fine, just let me know if you do, son. You’re performing the duties of your new job well. This rumor of the child is important to the King and to me. I just have a few minor questions.”
“Sir?” Edward sat taller.
“Have you decided whether you will depart for Nettleton tonight or early tomorrow? And yes, I must ask if you have sufficient funds in hand to properly finance your journey? Traveling to far lands is not cheap, as you know.”
“Sir?”
“You’ve said that, already. Did you expect to bring me rumor of a boy of the Dragon Clans and just let it lay without confirmation or following it up? I have already praised you for your job well done this morn. Must I retract it and appoint someone more eager to please me?”
<
br /> “No, sir.”
“Good. Now go find Tomas and tell him you need gold in your purse for your travels. Mention that I said he is to charge you his best interest rate. Take at least four aides, with fast horses for them, on your journey so they can return quickly with messages of your progress.”
“Aides?”
“Tomas will also provide you with the fast mounts you’ll require. He has some very nice ones, well trained and all that. I’ll trust him not to overcharge you, but if you prefer to beg funds from your father, or if you wish to use horses provided by your family, I completely understand.” The sheriff looked away from the confused expression on the boy’s face.
“I’m going? At my expense?”
“Edward, is there another you would have me trust with a mission so important?”
“No, I will go, sir. It’s just that I have traveled no further than Creighton in my few travels.”
The sheriff flashed his best smile and pounded the surface of his desk with his palm providing a sharp noise that made Edward nearly leap from his chair. “Excellent! You don’t have to thank me for providing you this adventure. Listen to me. You’ll love traveling afar, even if you’re moving so fast on your horse you cannot have time to experience it all. Still, you may locate a fine wine or other delicacies I could be interested in. Do keep me informed. I’m always interested in anything of quality.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, back to your task. You will confirm the existence of this dragon boy. Without his knowledge, you will lay your eyes on his bare back. That is critical. Send word of it to me immediately. You may consider adding a sketch if you have pen and paper at hand. Nobody else is to know about your mission, understood?”
“I have a question, sir. How will I see the image on the bare back of a boy I do not know, without his knowledge? Wouldn’t it be easier to simply take him into custody and return him here where you could examine him?”
