by LeRoy Clary
Only the mark Camilla wore depicted the dragon looking over her shoulder. Her mother had often traced the outline with a finger and cooed soft phrases to Camilla when she was small. She explained that the marks on each one of the family were things of beauty, and something for Camilla to be very proud of. But, always to be kept hidden from ordinary folk.
The phrase replayed in her mind. Ordinary folk. It meant more than she could pin down in her thinking. Others were ordinary, therefore, her family special. Yet, ordinary folk murdered her family and they still lived. If her family was so special, why were they all dead? The answer slipped into her mind like a child creeping softly into its parent’s bed during a thunderstorm. Ordinary folk were not special, but they held power because of numbers.
It was that simple. However, because they were not special, ordinary folk envied and hated those who were. Yes, that’s right. A relative may have explained it to her once, but she was very young and didn’t remember clearly. The information, the insight, filled a void in her mind. The insight also sealed any thoughts of intentionally sharing her deepest secret with Brix.
Brix said, “I think we should go now.”
“They came from up the valley and are headed for Nettleton. There may be more coming down the road.”
“I’m wondering what they were doing up there, too.”
“Is there a town?”
“Somewhere, I guess. Eventually. The road passes through a mountain pass called Gillian’s Cut. Don’t bother to ask me where it goes once it crosses the mountains because I have no idea.”
Camilla nodded, as she stood and boldly stepped onto the road as she shouldered her bedroll. “Arum lives somewhere before the pass?”
“Yes. You’ll like him. He’s old and moves slow, but he’s smart and quick to laugh. His sheep and goats are his life, but the last few years have been hard on him.”
“Because he’s old?”
“No, because of a red dragon.”
Camilla nearly stumbled. “A dragon?”
“A red one. It never came around until the last few years, but when it wants an easy meal, it swoops down and lets out a scream so loud and terrifying the animals just freeze in place. People too. It comes over the treetops and almost falls from the sky while it shrieks. Then it grabs the one it wants and flies off.”
“You’ve seen this?” Camilla fell back a few steps to walk even with Brix.
“Too many times. Seeing is only part of it. The sound is worse.”
“Are there other dragons?”
“Around here? Not that I’ve seen. Just that huge old red one with fire in her eyes. She looked at me once, Cam. Turned her head as she flew down to take a lamb, and looked right at me. Then her attention went to the sheep standing there paralyzed.”
“Back to those soldiers, again. I’ve been thinking. Their uniforms were clean and looked new. The soldiers looked only a few years older than you and me. They couldn’t have come far, or they would be dirty from travel.”
“I got the idea they were searching for something or had a mission.”
“Searching for?”
Brix shrugged and picked up the pace. “Something or some person. Who knows or cares? Let’s talk about other things. How do you know what to steal?”
“Steal?”
“In the village. We all watch you. You’re very good at stealing, but everyone knows.”
“I only take what I need. If my traps have animals in them, I have meat. If the trees grow fruit, I eat it and store what will not rot. Some I dry in the sun.”
“But you also steal.”
“Usually, I only take what the owners don’t want. I take potatoes that are soft, or apples with a bruise. I cut off the bad part and eat the rest.”
“Some also say you give things to old people and help animals. That you’re good for the people that live in Nettleton.”
Camilla remembered a sick dog she fed until it ran away. And a cow that belonged to Master Dean had wandered into a ditch where it was easy prey for coyotes. She found it and used a switch to swat its rump until it ran back to the pasture. Another time she cleaned a cut on the leg of a goat so it wouldn’t go lame with infection. They know about those things?
Camilla realized she had not been as careful as she thought.
“You don’t have any brothers, do you?”
“Why do you say that?” Camilla asked, remembering her older brothers, or what little she could remember of them.
“You don’t take teasing as someone used to it.”
“I had brothers. They were killed along with my sisters and father. Mom, too.”
Brix glanced away, then back again. “Sorry. I didn’t know. Who killed them?”
“Men on horses in uniforms. A lot of them.”
“Who were they?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think they were King Ember’s men. They wore the same colors as soldiers of the King. The same as those men this morning. That’s why I hide.”
“Why did they kill your family?”
“I don’t know. They came where we were camped in a forest and used swords to kill everyone. Then they burned our wagons and everything else.”
“What about you?”
“I was taking a pee in the woods when they attacked. I watched what happened from behind a bush, then ran.”
“Did you ever go back?”
“Yes. Everyone was dead, so I took a few small things, not much so nobody would know I was there, and then I ran off again and hid. I still hide from them.”
“That’s awful. But you were smart, it sounds like.”
“Scared.” Camilla walked along the road silently for a long while. The memories were vague, and nothing new came to mind except a dawning realization that all was not well. The life she had been leading was a lie. People did know about her. They knew she stole food and helped animals. Some probably knew where her cave was. She turned to the boy and spoke without intending to. “Know what’s worse?”
“Worse than what you’ve told me so far?”
Camilla held back tears and squared her shoulders. “I think they’re still after me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Weapons Master Paul turned to Slave Master Angora, who rode on the tall horse at his side. “With this infernal rain, the River Paxton will flood, probably this night.”
“Well, I’m glad we forded it earlier. We should reach Bradenton by nightfall, and that dolt Edward will be forced to stay on the other side of the Paxton River, with his parade of men, carts, and animals, if it continues to rain.”
The Weapons Master used his heels to spur the horse faster. “A night at the inn will warm me up.”
“Warm and dry will do both of us good, but if you’re thinking of the wine, or ale at the inn, don’t. If the King finds out you were drunk on a mission of his, he’d have your head, and I’d have to put up with training a new Weapons Master.” The brush on the side of the road grew in abundance and narrowed the road with overhanging shrubs and limbs. He let his horse fall into line behind the other, the animal keeping pace without urging.
Paul turned in his saddle and said, “We’re a full day ahead of that scoundrel Edward, already. If he sits by the river two days waiting for the waters to recede before he can ford it, we’ll have a three-day lead.”
“He might still cross the river today or tomorrow. We may need it all the time we have to locate the dragon boy and kill him. Especially if he’s managed to make friends in Nettleton. We find him and take him somewhere far away so there're no witnesses. You stay sober until we carry out our task.”
“And after?”
The Slave Master adjusted his hood so the water sluiced off to one side. “After, I’ll buy the drinks.”
“What if this dragon boy calls down a dragon on us?” The Weapons Master turned around and faced the road, but still allowed his horse to pick the way. All the King’s horses were well trained, and these two were among the best. They looked like scrubs from th
e Outland and indeed were from there. However, they had been selected for their intelligence and trained by the King’s own Stable Master. While looking ordinary, they didn’t draw attention from the peasants, but they were far from it.
“Call down a dragon? Listen, old friend. I do not believe all those dragon stories. They sound like tales of goblins and spooks. Tell me, how can a dragon be called on to do something without using words or cries?”
As the road widened, the Slave Master allowed his horse to move to the side of the other. When Paul didn’t answer his question, he let himself fall into deep thought. He’d heard stories of dragon people since he was small enough to be threatened by them, and even then, he’d had questions about them. Stories told of the King’s father fighting the Dragon Clan. They say he lost his life to the raking claws of a dragon swooping low and grabbing him.
The many stories said the old King led an army that day. Everyone learned them when young. They said, over two thousand armed men camped on the Crimson Plain west of the palace. The stories said that in the last light of day a shadow of a dragon flew low and fast. It crested a rise near the Army setting up their camp for the night. From those two thousand men, the dragon veered and turned, selecting only one. The old King.
It flapped giant wings to increase its speed and even as the old King saw it and sprang to his left, the dragon moved faster. It reached out with claws, large enough to encircle small cows. The old King was caught in the grasp of the dragon. It flapped its wings faster and climbed into the sky, circling the stunned men below. It climbed higher. It circled again and again.
Then it released him.
He struck the ground so hard some say that when it rained a puddle in the shape of the old King would form. The Weapons Master for the old King had dismissed the troops and ordered them to disperse. Later he had the army fall back to the palace where it could ‘protect’ the new King Ember, the old King’s son, if it was even possible.
He was the same King that presently sat on the throne. It explained his single-minded attitude when it came to the extinction of the Dragon Clan. King Ember believed that one of the clan steered the dragon to his father and ordered it to fly away with him. With two thousand men to choose from, it was not by accident that only the old King was snatched and carried into the air. He also believed it was no accident his father’s battered and broken body fell from the sky within sight of his army.
The Slave Master listened to the story with rapt attention. He had heard the tale second and third hand, but never from the Weapons Master, who had actually been there. Maybe he should consider allowing Paul a few mugs of ale in hopes of hearing the rest of the truth, or, at least, the Weapons Master's story. The man seemed to be holding back. He said, “Paul, on the Crimson Plain that day, they say the dragon flew into sight and selected the old King from all the others. Do you believe that?”
“Selected? I don’t know if that’s the exact word I’d use, but every witness agrees that damn dragon was heading for one group of men when it appeared over the tree tops and then it turned. It went right to the old King like a snake after a rat.”
“There were other men nearby? Easier prey?”
“Dozens. They were setting up the old King’s tent; unpacking his supplies, food and such.”
“But you believe they were easier targets?”
Paul faced him from the back of the other horse. He wiped away rain running down his twisted face with a forearm. “Yes. The old King saw the dragon coming. Most of his manservants were busy but stationary. The old King was speaking to three of his officers. They saw his fear and looked up to see the cause. The dragon had his eyes pinned on him. It never even looked at anyone else. When the old King ran, it gave chase.”
“You never told me the whole story.”
“I don’t like talking with witnesses or picturing it in my mind. Imagine the horrible thoughts of the old King as he was flown into the sky, and then released. They say he was so high he had to know he was falling to his death. Dying is the fate of a man, but to die knowing with certainty it will happen in the space of maybe two breaths is too horrible to consider.”
“Maybe we do have enough of a lead on Edward to tip a mug or two at the inn and sleep later in the morn. I’d like to hear more of your thoughts. Besides, we owe it to ourselves to sleep in a warm, dry bed for traveling through this pouring rain. A mug of two of ale will help warm us so we can travel faster, tomorrow.”
They rode in silence past a field of growing hay, a small cabin stood off in the distance. The Weapons Master snarled, “Don’t you think I know when you’re pumping me for information?”
“Does that mean you’re refusing my offer of a mug of ale?”
“No. I will tell you the truth, and none can deny my words. On that day so long ago they were going hunting for the Dragon Clan with intent to wipe them out once and for all. That dragon went right for the only one of us who could change that. It went for the old King as if it was being told what to do.”
“You said that.”
“I’ll repeat it. It was guided to the location of the old King. He was made an example, and the Dragon Clan lived, although they were camped less than a half day’s march from where the old King died. A hundred of them and two-thousands of us and they won. I will tell you with my last sober word that it was no accident the dragon went for the old King.”
If the Slave Master had not been at the side of the Weapons Master the last two days, he would swear the man was drunk or mad. But even with all the flaws, he saw in the Weapons Master, he also knew the man to be a fearless fighter and loyal to the crown like no other. The Slave Master had heard exaggerations of his battles, his glorious escapades with wenches, and his bragging of his skill in games of chance. He had never heard him lie or exaggerate about war or protecting his king.
“So you believe someone of the Dragon Clan can speak to a dragon in some fashion and tell it which person to grab out of thousands? You really believe that?”
Weapons Master Paul allowed the slightest smile to cross his lips, but it held little humor. “I’ll ask you one in return, my friend. You saw the men, women, and children we slew at Nettleton seven years ago. You saw with your own eyes the marks of dragons on their backs, so you know that much is true. Every one of them had a picture on their backs from the day they were born. Different colors. But born with those marks. How do you explain them?”
“I don’t know.” The Slave Master spoke slowly, “It has bothered me ever since.”
“Did you know that after all of you left that awful campsite near Nettleton, a few of us stayed and inventoried all we could find? Of course, you did, you saw the inventory in King Ember’s chambers. But did you know that we didn’t set the fire to the wagons and camp? No, it was set by the dragons. Not one, but three. Two reds and a black.”
“Dragons?”
“We hid and watched when they attacked. They arrived together and flew low over the wagons and camp until finally the black swooped low and hissed a mass of black slime as it flew past. Then the red dragons. They dove and coated everything in that clearing over and over. And then a lone man carried a torch to the edge of the dragon slime and threw it. The black slime erupted in orange flames and burned until only cinders were left. Wagons, bodies, tents, everything.”
“I’ve heard they spit that black slime where there’s flame, and it burns everything, even stone.”
“I don’t know about stone, but there was no fire to set the dragon slime ablaze. We think that man was one of the Dragon Clan, who torched the camp.”
“Why would he do that? And how did he know?”
“That’s the questions I keep asking. Why? And to add to the mystery, everyone was dead, so what did it matter? And if the dragons were directed by another person, why burn all the bodies? It haunts me.”
“You said directed, again. As if you really do believe there are people who can tell a dragon what to do.”
The Weapons Master pointed as the
y rode over the crest of the hill. “Lights. The inn better have vacant rooms for us.”
“Yes, sir. It would be a shame to throw some minstrel or vendor out of his bed on a terrible, wet night like this.”
“And there had better be hot food,” the Slave Master added.
“And strong ale,” Paul added with a smile and a nudge to the tired horse to pick up the pace.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Camilla walked on the road beside Brix, wondering how he had managed to follow her and warn her of the approaching soldiers. She had been sleeping. He was supposed to be asleep in the first clearing where they paused beside the stream—and she left him there. Had he followed and watched her at the stream or had he followed her tracks? Where did he sleep? She thought as she walked, her attention was split between the boy and what to do about him.
For her entire life, or as much as she remembered, she had been in charge of everything in her existence. She decided when to eat, what to eat, where and when to sleep, or steal. Her life belonged to her. She sensed and understood that even walking down a dirt road through a forest with another person required that she give and take, as he also must do. If she wanted a drink, he would wait for her, even if he did not wish one for himself. His normal pace was undoubtedly faster than hers as she limped with the help of her stick. Staff, she corrected herself. Pleasing the washerwoman might prevent a few lumps caused by her staff.
The road climbed slowly, and the vegetation thinned. The underbrush was not as thick, and more trees were evergreen, pine, cedar, and fir. Ahead, the mountains looked taller, many with snow topping them. They were the same mountains seen from the slopes of Copper Mountain, but already they looked taller and more rugged.
