Dragon Clan #1: Camilla's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  “Where did you sleep last night?”

  Brix sniggered, “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “Where?”

  “In that little clearing, I showed you. I caught enough fish to feed both of us, but you didn’t come back.”

  “What happened this morning? You went looking for me?”

  “Yes, from before the sun came up. I got nervous about those boys chasing us and decided to get an early start to make sure they didn’t find me. Or you.”

  She walked on and waited for more explanation, but when he didn’t tell her what she wanted, she said, “How did you find me?”

  “That flat rock beside the stream is where I always stop and get a drink. Your footprints were in the mud, and you left a clear trail of muddy prints as you went down that little path. I was about to head up the road without you when the army horses came into sight. I thought they might let their horses get a drink at that place, and I didn’t want them seeing your tracks and finding you.”

  The story sounded reasonable but didn’t ring completely true. Maybe she simply didn’t trust people, or hadn’t been around them enough, but she sensed deception. A sly glance in his direction revealed Brix strolling along, arms swinging, a smile on his lips as if he didn’t have a worry to ponder. Camilla mentally shrugged. Other than being less than a journeyman spinner of quality threads and cords, a fact everyone in the village knew, he probably didn’t have a worry. Parents and family fed and supported him. He had a future and family. What more could he wish for?

  His life and security both created envy and a pleasant jealousy. Brix probably had no idea of how privileged his life was when compared to hers. She quickly squashed any trace of anger, but still retained the wariness of someone too close. Having him to talk with might be a new experience.

  Today she walked far better with the help of the heavy staff held in her right hand. She barely supported any weight as she walked. Without it, she would walk better. The idea of tossing it aside entered her thoughts for a brief instant. The impression of the reaction Robin would have if she returned without it chilled her.

  “Do you mind walking ahead of me a few steps?”

  Brix shrugged and stepped faster. Her soreness had fled with the walking; even the slight limp was gone. Resigned to keep her part of the bargain with Robin, she swung the staff over her head and let the end strike the ground with her next step, but it almost made her stumble. No pain gave her hope. She swung it up again, this time in stride and let it fall, striking the ground again with a solid thump. Better. She did it again, trying to balance the staff with her shift in weight as she walked.

  Brix glanced back, gave a questioning look at the sound of the staff thumping the ground, and then turned away again.

  She repeated the same move and found it easier this time. When swinging the bottom end of the staff up, her right arm naturally moved forward. Then she allowed it to fall under its own weight. Thump, it struck the ground. Swing, relax and fall. Thump. Repeat. She continued walking and swinging the staff up and letting it fall until it felt natural.

  Robin had said to do it until her arms fell off. Camilla nodded in sudden understanding. Her arms were already getting tired, but the actions came smoother, requiring less effort. Soon her body remembered each step of the sequence without thinking about it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The washerwoman heard a group of boys from the academy talking in whispers about two strangers that had arrived earlier and that they were staying at the inn. The names they provided didn’t match the memory of old man Tucker, a farmer who had once been a foot soldier in the King’s army. The old man said he recognized the Weapons Master from his service back then. He suspected the other was the King’s Slave Master, although he’d never laid eyes on him. Never one to keep quiet, old man Tucker quickly spread the information to his closest twenty friends in the small village.

  The boys from the academy sipped watered-wine while quietly discussing the rumors. They spoke in voices that carried, as so many overconfident boys do. A tall boy stage-whispered, “They say he leads processions of slaves through the streets of Pendleton, slaves captured in far-off lands that he’s going to sell.”

  Another cadet, one with flaming red hair responded, “It’s true. Nobles pause and watch the new slaves pass, careful to take note of any they might be interested in.”

  A third, younger than the others lifted his watered wine, but before drinking, said, “Hey, I thought slavery is forbidden.”

  The first to speak, a tall young man near graduation age, snorted. “Slavery is officially non-existent and against the law. But, captured soldiers and those who provide them with critical services to fight in wars against us find themselves on the auction block. King Ember justifies it as repatriation for the financial losses we’ve faced in the kingdom. They simply pay us back for their crimes with servitude.”

  The washerwoman stood at a nearby table and listened while folding and hand-pressing an impressive pile of laundry into neat stacks. She folded the same shirt three times as she listened. The inn allowed her a small space to work in one corner of the common room to distribute her clothing, provided she paid the owner a small gratuity. Knowing that her patrons usually stayed for a mug or two of their favorite beverage while collecting their clothing, the innkeeper often refused her coin, and sometimes filled her mug to repay her for the customers she brought in.

  “Why are the two men trying to hide their identity?” the youngest of the three asked, his voice soft but carrying to her ears in the quiet of the inn. “They are some of the most important men in the kingdom.”

  The red-haired boy leaned closer. “If it’s really them. That old man might not know anything at all.”

  Robin almost nodded in agreement. Many people spend a night or two at the inn before moving on, and it had six rooms upstairs. Sooner or later travelers that look like other people had to stay there. Still, it wasn’t like old man Tucker to error when he’d served the King for so long. The question isn’t if it’s them. The question is: If it is them, why are they here? She folded the clothing slower, giving herself an excuse to remain and listen.

  Two regular patrons sat across from each other at another nearby table. Jeb mucked the stalls and did odd jobs at the building that was used as a stable. Billy Bryson worked at the mill. A pegboard sat between them while they took turns rolling the dice.

  Jeb’s words penetrated her thinking. “Their horses were worn out. Ridden hard, like in a hurry from a long ways off.”

  Billy Bryson glanced up and spoke in the voice he used when he didn’t believe what he’d heard. “To get here? Who in their right minds would ride a horse half to death to get to Nettleton?”

  Jeb rolled his dice and moved a peg on the board. “Just saying what I know.”

  The information, combined with what else she’d overheard troubled her. When two of the King Ember’s most important ministers show up on horses run half to death, there’s a reason. She tried to think of a positive reason for those two rushing to Nettleton.

  Jeb watched Billy Bryson roll and make a move that carried his red peg far past Jeb’s black. “I asked how long they were staying so I could know for the horses, the feed and so on. Both shrugged like they were hiding something. One said ‘a few days’.”

  Billy looked interested. “They say anything else?”

  “Just the usual talk about feed and watering, but that older one gave me a sly look and asked if we had a lot of orphans living around here.”

  “Orphans? What does he intend by that?”

  Robin moved around the table holding her laundry as if she needed to fold on the other side, the side closer to the old men. The word ‘orphan’ triggered something in her. Only one child in the village met that description. Camilla. Why would they be staying in Nettleton a few days and asking about her, unless it was about the mark of the dragon on her back? The village barely deserved to be called one, it was so small. What else could take them three
whole days in Nettleton?

  The old men continued with their dice game and a change of subject. Robin changed spots again, covertly listening to the discussion at another table, but never hearing anything else of interest. She eased closer to the students at the academy again and listened to tales of their boyhood adventures that were certainly lies.

  A man threw open a door on the balcony that circled the entire common room of the Red Dog Inn. He stepped to the railing and looked over as if he owned the building, wine racks, tables and chairs, and everything else. While looking down, he gave the appearance his nose was raised into the air in a superior manner. His stance was one more used to the presence of nobles than workers in fields, stables, and farms.

  He is the King’s man for sure. Robin flicked her attention away as he examined all in the room and his eyes drew down to her. She concentrated on folding and hand-pressing without hurrying. Old man Tucker was right. But why was the man here? Why three days? What would their reaction be when they found she was not here?

  The stranger continued to gaze at each person in the great room as if memorizing them and decided the fate of each. Only then did he descend the log staircase and seat himself at a table alone. The new barmaid, Bev, the oldest girl from the family with the apple orchard that grew along the river leaped to his table with a smile. She wiped her hands on her apron as if they needed to be cleaner for this patron. They passed a few words, she flitted off, only to return almost instantly with a mug of ale and another warm smile.

  A second stranger entered, this time through the front door under the wooden image of a red dog hanging above. After throwing the door open, he glanced around briefly and dismissively as he went directly to the empty seat opposite the first man. His demeanor was every bit as officious and overbearing, his nose was also held slightly higher than that of the locals. They put their heads together.

  Robin glanced at an empty table near them. She’d refolded the same shirt so many times she felt silly but remained in her usual place. Her eyes were downcast when the second man stood and walked in her direction. He carefully examined the clothing on the table and retreated without a word passing between them. She looked at the shirt again and noticed it was small, fit for a child, such as a twelve-year-old boy. Or girl. He was looking for information on Camilla, she felt sure.

  The man who had approached her table walked outside as the one seated ordered another mug from the young serving girl. Robin left her laundry on the table and eased outside, trying not to attract attention. At the doorway, she paused until she spotted him walking to the shed where the blacksmith beat a tune on iron with his hammer. She circled the inn to where the four outhouses stood. Entering one, she watched outside through the ill-fitting door.

  When he finished talking to the blacksmith, he turned and entered the door of Miss Ann’s store. Inside, she sold anything related to sewing. The material, ribbon, needles, thimbles, and of course, advice. Her lips held many a story and rumor.

  Heart pounding, Robin, slipped out and walked directly to the blacksmith as if they had business to discuss. She washed his clothing, which was difficult to clean. Besides the soot and grime, everything had small holes from burning sparks. He wore rags at work, for the most part, until he went home to his new wife of three years. There he washed in a rain barrel out back and usually changed into the clothing she had placed on a bench before entering the tidy home. Robin had stepped to the edge of the roof and to the side of the blacksmith before he saw her.

  “You startled me.” He continued pounding the glowing iron on his anvil.

  “That man. What did he ask you?” She had already decided not to be coy or deceptive.

  The hammer continued its beat, never missing. He answered between. “He said wild boys are becoming a problem in this district. They steal and cause trouble. He wanted to know if I’ve had any problems.”

  There it was. She drew a deep breath. He was definitely after Camilla, and there could be no doubt. A rumor of her living in Nettleton must have reached the palace. “What else?”

  The blacksmith dunked the hot iron into a tub of water, and steam rose. “He waited for me to tell him about any wild boys around here who make trouble, I guess.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said I don’t know anyone like that. I have work to do instead of talking all day.”

  Robin saw the stranger leaving Miss Ann’s. “There is that one boy that lives in the hills by Copper Mountain.”

  “Oh, that one doesn't cause me any trouble. I didn’t even mention him.”

  She nodded her goodbye to the blacksmith and walked to the door of the store. Again she didn’t hesitate to speak. “What did he want?”

  Miss Ann stood on a stool as she placed a bolt of material high on a shelf. She didn’t even bother looking at Robin. “A King’s man comes in here asking questions about that nice boy that lives by himself up in the hills, so I figured right away he’s up to no good. He asked me a lot of questions, but I grew sort of stupid and didn’t know any answers. What’s he after?”

  “I don’t know, either, but I’m trying to find out.”

  “If he keeps asking, somebody will tell him sooner or later. Did you know that boy chops me kindling in winter? And he brings fish from the stream? I sort of trade him a little jerky or whatever. I’ll spread the word, to say nothing. No sense in bringing problems down on him.”

  Everyone still thought of Camilla as a boy. That was good because she might hide Camilla in plain sight if they looked only for a boy. Robin smiled at the idea and stepped out the door in time to see the Sword Master entering the Red Dog Inn again.

  She strolled across the street and glanced at the open door of the inn. The other man still sat in front of a mug, but the one she followed wasn’t in sight. She opened the door further to see where he’d gone. The door flew open, pulling her with it. She let go and stumbled back, one step after another.

  The Sword Master had waited inside the door for her, then hit it with his shoulder as she started inside. Her foot found a depression as she fell backward, and she was sitting on the ground. He reached her an instant later, wrapping his fingers in her hair and pulling her head back to expose her throat. A knife appeared in his other hand. He bent over and looked into her eyes as the edge touched her neck. “Don’t lie to me.”

  She tried to nod, but his grip held her steady.

  “Did you think you could follow without me noticing?”

  Another attempted nod.

  “Why?” He allowed her head to move forward enough to speak.

  He was one step below royalty, probably working for the King. She washed clothes. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. She didn’t flinch or back down. “You’re strangers. Nobility is my guess. You want something, and if I can figure out what it is, maybe I can sell it to you.”

  “You want money? Is that it? Okay, maybe we can work something out, woman. Do you know of any wildling boys living around here? About twelve years old?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Her head was pinned back again, the knife still touching her throat. He snarled, “Will you answer me?”

  She nodded. When he allowed her to move her head, she said, “One. There’s only one boy around here.”

  The blacksmith and a farmer named Jacob approached from opposite directions. The blacksmith still held a hammer.

  He looked up. “This woman and I have business to discuss. Back away or the crown will have enough troops here to wipe this village clean of rebels.”

  They hesitated. Robin found herself raised to her feet, his fingers still tangled in her hair, then she danced on air as he turned her to face him as he held her higher. “Talk to me, woman.”

  The blacksmith and Miss Ann had tried to hide the ‘boy’, but others would certainly talk, especially if a reward were offered. In that case, all who lied were in danger but did not yet realize it. Telling this man freely would put doubt in his mind and not protect the villag
ers. She sputtered and asked, “How much will you pay me?”

  “Your life. Is that enough?” He let her feet touch the ground as she snatched a breath.

  She shook her head, hoping that was the response that would convince him she was telling the truth, and that she was only interested in gold.

  “Two silver coins.” He let go of her hair.

  She spat in the sand. “From the way you treat me, you’ll probably give me two so small they won’t buy a meal at the inn behind you.”

  “I won’t cheat you, woman.”

  “Pay me now, sir. I want to see four silver coins and some copper near my feet.”

  His knife went back into his waistband, and his fingers moved to his fat purse. He pulled coins and let three silver and a few copper coins fall.

  “I said, four silver.”

  “Three, and your life. I’m tired of talking. If you don’t tell me, someone else will.”

  Miss Ann and two other women now stood beside the blacksmith. Robin turned slightly and winked at them. Then she turned back to him. She pointed at the coins, then moved her finger to the forest in the opposite direction of Copper Mountain. “You cheated me, but I’ll tell you, anyway. The only wild boy around here lives in a cave somewhere in those trees beside a stream.”

  “Over there?” He jutted his chin where she pointed. “Where?”

  “Follow the road you arrived on until you come to the first little stream that crossed it, then turn up the hillside until you come to that dirty little cave of his. He’s always there unless he’s here in Nettleton sneaking around and stealing from one of us.”

  The stranger glanced at the others.

  The farmer nodded.

  Miss Ann also pointed in the same direction as she had.

  He dropped Robin in the dirt, where she scooped up her coins as if they were all important. He stood facing the others, hands on hips, a cruel smile splitting his face. His eyes fell to her, a snarl on his bloodless lips. “I would have paid you a hundred times that much, woman. But at least, you have something. These fools got nothing.”