Dragon Clan #1: Camilla's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  The freckled boy pointed and taunted, “He admits he travels this road without paying his toll. I think we’re duty bound to take what little coin he has in his purse and spend it impressing pretty girls at the inn.”

  A humorless chuckle filled the air as several of the boys laughed without humor.

  “Or beat it out of him,” the tall one said, eyes gleaming like he was about to bite into a loaf of bread coated with honey.

  Tarter, the boy who claimed his father owned the road, placed his hands on his hips and said, “If you tell us what we desire, we may let you pass without paying.”

  “Tell you what?” Brix shuffled another small step closer to the edge of the road as if adjusting his bedroll. A glance told him he could dart onto the pathway that led up to Copper Mountain. The trail was narrow, rugged and twisting as it wound through brambles and then up the hillside of sage and cedar. The boys would have to chase him in single file. If any slowed, those behind would too. Later the trail wound through scrub trees, across a stream that could be leaped, and then it climbed. Loose rocks and shale laid over hard packed clay. It continued right up the side of the mountain all the way to the deserted old mines.

  Hands on hips, Tarter continued, “We’re looking for a wildling boy, about your size. Probably limping. He lives about here, somewhere. For the answer of where he lives, we will allow you to pass unharmed and use this road without toll.”

  Brix had seen the wild boy a few days earlier, as well as a hundred other times. At least half of the sightings were on this side of Copper Mountain, the others usually in the village where he caught sight of him skulking around. It might be valuable information to them, perhaps even enough to satisfy these greedy toll-takers. However, he felt defiance surging within. “I don’t know him, or where he lives. Why do you want to know?”

  “That is our business,” the boy with red hair said, his voice as cold as a winter draft.

  At the same time, the tall boy said, “We owe the wildling a beating.”

  “Well, I don’t know him, and that’s the truth. I’ve never spoken to him.” On impulse, Brix pointed to the trees growing thick on the opposite side of the road, and shouted, “Hey! Is that the one you’re looking for?”

  As the heads of all the military boys turned away to look where he pointed, Brix darted across the other side of the road, onto the Copper Mountain trail. Running, he felt the wind ruffle his hair and pull at his clothes. He had, at least, four or five steps on them. Lengthening his stride, he held his bedroll against his waist to keep it from flapping. His escape gave him an oddly free and excited feeling. Rounding a bend on the trail he allowed a glance over his shoulder and saw only three students had taken up the chase, and they looked winded already, as they fell back.

  Brix lowered his head down and concentrated on running faster and longer if for no other reason than to let those boys know he was better at something than they were. Claiming ownership of the King’s Road. That was pure rubbish. Did they think he was a child?

  Another glance over his shoulder told him they’d halted and now huddled. They were talking heatedly. One pointed at him with a menacing finger and called a taunt in his direction. Brix ignored it as he kept on running. The lower side of Copper Mountain held little in the way of cover. It was mostly barren rock and clumps of sage, but no trees or shrubs large enough to hide him. He stood out like a speckle on a clean sheet. The boys could watch him from below and move to meet him when he went back down unless he waited for dark. Even then, he feared facing again, these newly made enemies.

  Brix continued up the side of the mountain for a better view of the slope and the road. Maybe he could manage to race ahead and get away. The act of running from them had been an impulse, but it put him forever at odds with the five students who studied at the military school. They’d leave Nettleton and join the regular army in a year or two, but while living in Nettleton, they would be enemies. Brix’s older brothers wrestled and boxed, two activities he didn’t enjoy. When he returned home, maybe he needed to beg a few lessons.

  His thinking shifted to the wildling boy. Why did they want to know where he lived? They mentioned owing him a beating, but what could the boy have done to deserve that? He was most irritated with their attitude. Owning the King’s road! Charging tolls. Those boys were all the sons of nobles and wealthy merchants. Everyone else was supposed to do their bidding. Their teachers taught them, others fed them, and the washerwoman cleaned their uniforms. What do they do for themselves?

  Bricks slowed, his legs burning. Like his older brothers, he had now managed to make enemies of the second sons at the school, and if their pattern held true, he was in for as much trouble as the wildling. Too late to take it back and tell them where he suspected the wildling boy lived, but he wouldn’t if he could. Many in the village believed the wildling boy was welcome because of his good deeds. They said he delivered firewood to the widow Natter's sisters on dark winter nights. He left them apples and berries in season. They were too old to cut it themselves, but the wood box on their back porch was never empty, and the kindling always split.

  There were loaves of bread left in the wood box, too, placed there by Old Mrs. Natters, some say, in return for the wood. She also left bowls of stew or parts of a cooked chicken. There were other rumors of the boy helping the villagers, too, like a lost calf returned to its mother. The list went on and on.

  If only half the rumors hold true, the wildling boy would be welcome in any town or village. No, Brix would not be the one to tell those military students where to find him. But he might warn him of their intentions if he saw him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Edward, the Earl’s eldest son and the newest member of the sheriff’s table, left the offices of the sheriff with a sigh of relief and went directly to see Tomas, as he’d been instructed. Tomas was second in command to the sheriff. A lofty position. In his brief year at the sheriff’s table, Edward had yet to speak directly to the man. Now, in a shed near the stables, Tomas sat behind a huge crude desk made of thick planks laid across beer kegs.

  The rich smells of horse sweat, and nearby waist-high piles of manure permeated the air. Only one chair was present, and Tomas occupied it. Edward strode to the desk, chin up as he’d been taught, and announced, “The sheriff told me to personally investigate the rumor of the dragon boy. He instructed me to see you for travel funds and said you are to charge me your ‘best’ interest rate. I will also need swift horses for four messengers, as well as the equipment required for traveling to and from Nettleton.”

  Tomas concealed a smirk with the back of his hand. “Of course, my Lord.”

  “I am not your lord.”

  “Ah, but your father is the Earl, so you will be one too, someday. It’s never too early to be humble to an important man such as yourself. How many gold coins will you require for your venture?”

  “Not counting the cost of horses, I will need to pay wages to the four messengers, a guide, and a cook. And all will need enough food for the journey.”

  Tomas jotted down the requirements as if he couldn’t remember all of them. Without looking up, he said, “Will you also require tack for the horses? Saddles and such? Tents? Wagons?”

  “Uh, well, yes.”

  “Good, good. Have you already secured the men you need?”

  “Not yet. That will be my next order of business.”

  “So you intend to depart for Nettleton in only three or four more days, perhaps a ten-day?” Tomas waited, knowing the impatience of the sheriff, and also knowing that if the sheriff was up to his usual schemes, he expected Edward was to depart immediately.

  Remembering the sheriff’s instructions to leave this evening or early in the morning, Edward felt a twinge of fear. “Can you also help me hire messengers? Today? I wish to leave before dark.”

  “Of course, my future lord. Money talks, does it not? Now, about the amount of gold again, do you know how to calculate simple, or compound interest?”

  Und
erstanding that it is usually better to admit ignorance on some subjects and leave them to be done by the lower classes of people, Edward stood taller, held his chin higher and said, “I do not.”

  “No problem. I’ll handle the small details and explain it all to you before you sign the papers. I have experience in outfitting ventures of this sort. This is not the first time the sheriff has ordered someone on a venture. I’ll have everything here waiting for you shortly after you enjoy your midday meal. You can depart early and impress the sheriff and your father with your eagerness.”

  “Right. I’ll go make my preparations and return after eating. Thank you so much, Tomas.”

  “No, you don’t owe me any thanks,” Tomas said, a wide grin splitting his face. “None at all, I assure you.”

  Tomas watched Edward retreat and allowed himself the first lingering smile of the day. He almost gloated openly as he called to his men. “Callen, William, Henry, get your lazy asses in here. We have work to do and money to earn.”

  While waiting for his workers to gather near him, Tomas glanced again at the list and estimated preliminary numbers. The sheriff’s coded message to charge the ‘best’ rates on lending gold meant Edward had no idea of what he was doing. Tomas would charge the highest rate possible, and young Edward would believe he had a bargain, at least until the time came for his father to pay. The Earl would protest, naturally, and a new sum negotiated. By this, Edward would learn to respect the business prowess of Tomas, and know there was profit for him to be made when he became the Earl if he used the services of the sheriff and Tomas properly.

  It would be an expensive trip and an expensive lesson for the young man.

  Meanwhile, Edward left the office of Tomas and breathed air free of the heavy smell of horse piss and dung. He stiffened his back and strode directly to his chambers trying to ignore the rising fears and uncertainty of the assignment. This was the first time the sheriff had given him something to do, and he meant to impress. It had been a year of sitting and waiting. Now he planned to earn the trust and respect of the sheriff, as well as that of the others at the table who had taken him lightly.

  His mind churned at the array of items he needed to take along on the trip. After all, he was a nobleman who needed to keep up with appearances, even while traveling. His father would expect no less. He would require at least three trunks of proper dress clothing, books to read, several pairs of boots, a variety of hats, and many other choices to make. He still must deal with the likes of choosing silver or pewter for dining utensils. So many questions and only a short time to get ready. The servants would earn their keep today.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Camilla settled herself on a convenient rock behind a clump of silver sage that was blooming with tiny blue flowers. From there she could see the whole side of Copper Mountain while remaining unseen. Caution had always been part of her daily routine, but now she moved as if her life depended on anticipating an ambush. The short rope looped over her shoulder was tied to each end of the rolled blanket and groundsheet.

  The pole the washerwoman had given her rested in her right hand, the knife concealed at her hip where she could draw it quickly. The purse tied at her waist now held most of the coins Robin loaned her, in addition to her broken slice of flint and steel. Two of the iron pennies were rolled in the blanket she carried. Best to always split your assets in case of trouble.

  Concealed by the head-high sagebrush, she carefully examined the side of the mountain and the trail she intended to travel in reaching the King’s Road. If her enemies were near, she wouldn’t stumble into their trap. Not again. Not ever.

  This might be the last time she’d see this mountain for a while. She had no idea of how long the trip would take, other than the washer-woman said four or five days to reach the herdsman, Arum. She guessed at least twice that to return. Far more than ten days, one way or another, and probably closer to twenty when the sheep and goats slowed them down.

  She’d stopped by her cave to store her few belongings in several nearby caches, and to make sure everything was secure for the time she’d be gone. She turned over the stones used for her small fires, concealing the blackened portions in the ground. She made sure any noticeable trace of occupancy was wiped away. The boys from the academy would be searching for clues to her location, and she didn’t intend to make it easy for them.

  Maybe they’d forget about her after a while and chase after someone else. But for now, their anger and fear fed each other, increasing as they moved closer to their prey, like a pack of hungry wild dogs. The boys were not hungry; it was their way. In their school they learned to fight for their king, and using those skills on a weaker opponent came to them naturally. Like the lamb, Camilla was the weaker, and, therefore, a target. If they knew she was a girl, it would probably be worse, so she had trimmed her hair again with the small knife and walked heavily on her heels, like boys. She swung her shoulders back and forth instead of her hips as she walked. She’d been doing that ever since she could remember. But, as the washerwoman mentioned, her body was changing and soon she wouldn’t be fooling anyone.

  Beginning her trip up the valley brought anxiety and a thousand unanswered questions, but the washerwoman was the only person she trusted to ask. Why she trusted her was another unanswered question, but orphaned girls don’t often question mundane items like why does the sun rise, or why is there dirt beneath their feet, or why to trust some and not others. They simply accept.

  The exposed location on the side of the mountain placed her directly in the sun. Sweat beaded and ran down her neck and forehead. Still, she remained still and watched.

  Below, snaking down the side of her mountain wound the narrow path taking her to the King’s Road, and the upper valley. Much of the mountain was clear of trees. Sage, scrub, and dried grasses competed for the meager soil, and plants grew low, twisted, and sparse. After the mining of the mountain, the plants never recovered.

  Far below she’d spotted movement a while ago, so she hid and waited. At the bottom of the mountain near the road, she spotted a distant figure running in her direction. Running usually means danger. Watching the path that strung out behind the runner for a time revealed there were three more runners.

  Why would four people race up the path to the Copper Mountain mines, and incidentally in the same direction as her small cave, unless they were after her? It could be for another reason, but she needed to be sure. Somebody may have seen her leave the washerwoman’s place, or might have followed her in the past, and told another. The boys from the military academy often paid for information, and if they bribed a villager who knew her cave location, they would be after her.

  Careful to remain still and hidden, she watched the four race up the path in her direction, as she reviewed her actions and options. She hadn’t done the boys any harm, not a rude word or disrespectful glance in their direction. Yet they singled her out as the weakest and the one with the least support in the village. She became their target.

  She came to another conclusion. Rich boys can get away with anything.

  If they continued up the mountain and found her cave, the opening hidden behind the cedars and pines that she’d planted last summer, they’d only find three old blankets stored in the rear, and perhaps her stash of nuts and dried apples in a hole under a flat rock. But it would take a hard search to locate the cave and more to find the few items still there.

  Arum, the sheep herder, was not expecting her, so a small delay in her departure shouldn’t matter. Camilla wanted to know if the boys searched for her, or if they had another reason for running up the side of her mountain. She needed to know as much as possible because she planned to return. If they found her cave, she had to make other arrangements.

  The one running in front wore a bright yellow shirt and was clearly a faster runner. He quickly outpaced the other three, and in a short while, only two of them ran behind. Then only the leader continued, as all the others slowed and then turned back. They shouted an
d raised fists at the lone runner. Camilla watched him continue, puzzled by their actions. The lone boy was a fast runner. Fast, but not as fast as me.

  The huffing of a winded runner sounded as he trotted nearer to Camilla’s hidden location. Peering through the foliage, Camilla saw the craftsman wearing a yellow shirt, not the brown of a student warrior, but close enough in color to be confused at a distance. Looking again down the path to the other three runners, she convinced herself they wore military brown, but the distance was extreme. Maybe the boy soldiers chased another victim. Were there others that the boys fought and tortured? She didn’t remember them chasing another villager, but there had been fights. Now and then a boy or two from the school would get into a fight with a villager. She had watched more than one, always from a distance, but not for at least two years.

  The others started moving back down the mountain. Only the craftsman remained. He had pulled to a stop a hundred paces from Camilla and dropped to his knees, catching his breath. When he raised his head, it was to watch the path behind himself as if making sure the others turned back, and it was not one of their tricks. He carried a rolled blanket similar to her own, a piece of rope over his shoulder, each end tied to the end of the blanket.

  The boy in yellow seemed to have shared enemies with her. She had watched him often enough around the village but never spoken to him. However, common enemies can make good friends. Perhaps she should step into the open and say hello. Perhaps offer her help and support.